30 Years later - chapter 1 - 6
by The Beauty Owl
Summary: The story begins 30 years after Catherine's supposed death with Jake (Jacob) Chandler, the son of Catherine and Vincent. He is an FBI agent and lives in Washington. However, investigations lead him back to New York to his father and the past of his parents. Father and son are confronted with a mystery that turns their entire world upside down. And then? Read!
1. Chapter 1: Return

Return

Let us not love in word,

neither with the tongue;

but in deed and truth.

(The first letter of John 3:18)

_**New York (cemetery); Jake (Jacob Chandler) and Vincent**_

It had been a cloudy day. Darkness fell on the city. Jake had been on his feet since the early hours of the morning. Only in the afternoon his plane had landed from Washington. It was dark now. Fine and silent. Manhattan's pulsating beat was behind him. The place where he was was deserted. His steps slowed down involuntarily as he got closer to his destination. Darkness, silence and his steps. How many times had he gone this way? Mostly in the dark. He knew it in his sleep. He stopped in front of the grave. Thoughtfully and serious he looked at the tombstone that rose at the end of the grave.

"Hi, Mom," he said quietly. Nothing more. He let the silence into him and hoped he would hear something in this silence. But nothing.

A silent shadow slipped beside him. United with him in this silence. Jake didn't have to raise his head to know who was standing next to him. The two of them stood there and looked at the grave. The shadow next to him came loose and walked to the marble tombstone. Silently he bent down and laid a red rose at the foot of the stone. Then the shadow came back to him, took off the hood of his cape and took him in his arms.

Jake sank into the familiar embrace. "Hello, Pa," he said quietly.

"Welcome home, my boy," Vincent replied with a rough voice.

_**New York; the tunnels; Jake (Jacob) and Vincent**_

They walked leisurely through the tunnels.

"How long are you staying?" Vincent asked in his rough, deep voice.

"I don't know yet," his son replied.

"So you didn't just come to visit us," Vincent said.

Jake knew it was no use fooling his father. "I have an investigation to conduct here in New York."

"Hm."

Slowly they came to the inner chambers. The knocking on the pipes could be heard.

"What's new," Jake tried to distract.

"Lucas and Debbie got married. Debbie's expecting a child."

"So they stay down here?" concluded Jake. Debbie had a crush on him once. That was so long ago.

"Yes."

"And Mouse and Jamie? What about Pascal? Still he can't get away from the pipes at his age, can he?"

Vincent stopped abruptly. "Why don't you ask them yourself?" Thoughtfully, he looked at his son.

Jake was mute. He knew himself that he came far too rarely. He rarely went back to the old life. The world upstairs had absorbed him. He had a job to which he was committed for many reasons. "Okay. I'm sorry. I know I haven't shown up in too long."

"Nobody blames you for that," Vincent replied in his calm voice. "Except yourself."

Jake knew his father was right. Since he had left the tunnels, he fought against his conscience. A conscience that drove him on the one hand to do something for his country and on the other hand admonished what his father had done for him. His father could only live in the tunnels. He himself had the whole world of which he had already seen one or the other. Yes, the world above had its very own attraction and seduced to oblivion.

Vincent knew that, and yet he had never stopped his son or pushed him into anything. Jake had to go his own way. They reached Vincent's chamber and sat down. Jake looked around and felt a sense of basic trust in all the familiar things that never changed. The interior, the illuminated window through which a warm light shone. Everything was as usual. Only the number of books seemed to grow steadily and cause the shelves to burst.

"Tell me what brings you to New York?"

"The FBI is investigating a case of art forgery. I'm meeting with the head of the Museum of Modern Art tomorrow."

Vincent nodded deliberately. "Hm." He stopped asking if it could be dangerous. He knew Jake was in constant danger as an FBI agent. He had known that since his son decided to go above and become a policeman. Driven by the desire for justice and in memory of Diana Bennett, who had done so much for him. Vincent knew that Jacob had his own reasons. The death of Diana, but also the memory of his mother. Catherine. Her name alone still caused this painful and sweet pulling in the chest. Time is nothing, Vincent thought. Thirty years are nothing.

"I think it's more of a harmless case of fake images," Jake continued. "I don't even know if I can find anything out here."

"And how are you otherwise?"

Jake hesitated. What was he supposed to tell his father about the world above?

"Is there a woman in your life?"

There were many women above and now and then also for him. But he did not want to tell Vincent about this, for whom there had been and always would be only one love. Silence spread, which was enough answer. The world up there had alienated him from his son and both seemed unable to bridge that gap in the few moments Jake visited him.

"Do you still feel the unknown heartbeat of a woman inside you?" Thoughtfully and a little demanding, Vincent looked at Jacob, who was initially silent. Then he nodded. "Yes, I still feel like someone is far away." Thoughtfully he shook his head. "This is crazy. I have never met a woman who has influenced this feeling in any way."

It all started when Jake grew up. That feeling. Or he had only become aware of it at that time. Like he's connected to someone far away. His father had told him about the bond that had connected him and his mother and whose loss had finally cost her her life.

"Maybe it's just imagination all the time," he tried to dismiss the subject.

"That's never been the case with me and your mother," Vincent replied. "As you have told me, it is the same strong feeling that I experienced with your mother."

"But you only had it after you met. I've had this feeling since I can think and no particular experience or person has triggered it."

"Maybe someday," Vincent said.

Jake interrupted him. "You mean, at some point I suddenly stand before the woman whose heartbeat I feel all the time and find the love of my life the way it was with you and Mom? Pa, I know the world out there better than I'd like to sometimes. Believe me, there's no room for such a thing. Everything is fleeting and irrelevant." He abruptly stopped speaking in the knowledge that he had revealed too much to his father.

Vincent remained silent at first. "Jacob," he said, "there must be a reason for what you feel inside of you. You carry this gift within you and I know what it can mean. I'm sure someday you'll know. It's for a reason." He looked urgently at his son.

_**New York; Museum of Modern Art; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Simon Mallory (Director of the Museum); Joe Maxwell**_

Jake thought about the conversation with his father still the next day. He had spent the night in the tunnels, and the familiar feeling of safety and security had filled him. But now he was back in the world above. At 11 o'clock he met with the director of the Museum of Modern Art, Simon Mallory. He had already arranged the appointment from Washington. Yet the secretary kept him waiting.

"Excuse me, Mr. Chandler. Mr. Mallory had an unregistered visitor on short notice."

"Jake nodded and practiced patience. He waited in the anteroom, watching the secretary at work, which consisted mainly of getting rid of phone calls. His fine senses absorbed the surroundings and also the dull voices that rose behind the door of Simon Mallory's office. Abruptly the door opened and a tall man with grey hair stepped out.

"Are you Jacob Chandler from the FBI?"

Jake stood up and didn't let his surprise show. After all, he had an appointment. He nodded briefly.

"Come in. Perhaps you can make it clear to Mr. Maxwell that the FBI has now taken control."

Jake stepped into the large, spacious office. The windows gave a wide view of Central Park. At a seating group he saw an elderly man in a suit with snow-white hair walking restlessly up and down.

"May I introduce the gentlemen," Simon Mallory took over the interview. He pointed to the elder: "Joe Maxwell, district attorney of New York. Jacob Chandler of the FBI in Washington."

The elder frowned briefly. "Chandler, did you say?"

Jake just nodded and shook hands with Joe Maxwell. He had to stay calm. He knew who Joe Maxwell was. He had known his mother and worked with her. He cleared his throat. "I've come from the FBI for the fake artworks that have turned up."

"Mr. Mallory told me already. I just don't understand why the FBI would interfere. The state of New York has jurisdiction, and it shouldn't be a big deal." Joe Maxwell's voice sounded confident and decisive. He looked vividly at Jake.

Jake admonished himself to stay calm under the look of the DA. Joe Maxwell had no idea who he was, even though he was named after his mother. He cleared his throat briefly: "We have reason to believe that the art forgeries are carried out on a large scale beyond the borders of New York".

"Do you have proof of that?" Joe Maxwell asked.

"Counterfeit sculptures have appeared in Washington. Our staff is currently in contact with other important museums worldwide to detect any irregularities. I'm here to find out what works of art have been forged here and if there is a pattern. You know whether the forger or forgers are forging works by certain artists."

"Well, that's quite simple in this case," Simon Mallory interfered. "All five fake works are by an artist named Kristopher Gentian."

"Hey, don't be so rash with information," the DA tried to slow him down.

Jake frowned with irritation. He knew the name of the artist and he knew a work of his that nobody else knew. He had to shake off his growing discomfort. "Is there something about this Kristopher Gentian?" he asked as impartially as possible.

Simon Mallory looked over questioningly at Joe Maxwell. He admitted defeat. "Well, tell him what you know."

"Kristopher Gentian has been dead for over 30 years. He wasn't discovered until after he died. Since then, the prices for his works have risen steadily. Now they're a real investment."

"And who owns the works, especially those that were then faked?"

"There are several wealthy citizens. Lawyers, publishers, politicians. I can give you a list of the people I know," Simon Mallory readily admitted.

"Good."

The ringing of a mobile phone interrupted the conversation. Joe Maxwell restlessly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Excuse me, please." He turned his back to the other two. "Joe Maxwell. Anna? Yeah, what is it? I'm still with Simon Mallory. What's the matter? I told you to reschedule." Silence.

The other two men were also silent. Jake stealthily watched Joe Maxwell. The man who worked with his mother. He didn't know him; he only knew that he had been a good friend and superior of his mother. That's what his father and Diana told him.

"What?" Maxwell suddenly shouted into the receiver.

Jake was torn from his thoughts. The DA's face was snow-white, which made him look like a corpse with his white hair.

"That can't be." His voice sounded hoarse. "Anna, I'm on my way. We must issue a restraining order immediately." He ended the conversation and turned to the other two men. "I've got to go. All right, if the FBI is tracking it, I'll let my people know to give you everything," he said to Jake. "Maybe you can come by our office later and go over these things, Mr. Chandler." Irritated, Joe Maxwell frowned again, as if the name reminded him of something.

"Sure," Jake said, once again feeling uncomfortable under Maxwell's piercing gaze.

An hour later, Jake left Simon Mallory's office. In his pocket he had a list of all of Kristopher Gentian's works. He had to talk to his father. The clash with his mother's past worried him greatly. This did not develop into a normal case, he instinctively felt. Something seemed to catch up with him.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jake (Jacob) and Vincent**_

Vincent was expecting him in the Central Park tunnel. There was also an invisible bond between father and son. One reason Jake didn't live in New York anymore was because he wanted to break away from his father.

"What's the matter," Vincent asked. "I didn't expect you so soon." A soft irony resonated in his words.

"I met Joe Maxwell today," Jake fell in the house with the door.

His father stayed calm.

"He stumbled upon my last name, of course. Anyway, I had a feeling."

Vincent nodded calmly. "That's understandable."

"My case also seems to be getting more complicated. The forgeries found here are from works by Kristopher Gentian."

It was only now that Vincent's face began to feel uneasy. "Is that safe?"

"Yes. These are exclusively works by Gentian. Pa, I know what that picture of you and Mom means to you, and I feel like I'm being overwhelmed by a past I didn't know about."

Thoughtfully, Vincent looked at him. Then he walked a few meters up and down the tunnel. "We always thought it wouldn't matter if you took your mother's name in the world above. No one can connect you to her."

"Perhaps I attach too much importance to this. Joe Maxwell got a call and left the museum pretty upset. I'm going to the DA's office tomorrow to get an insight into the information gathered there. I don't think I'll see him there again."

"But the fakes," Vincent objected. "Your mother made the works public at the time." Something now seemed to bother him seriously. "Who knows about these fakes?"

"Well, there's been a report in the press before," Jake said, "but I don't know if the name Kristopher Gentian was mentioned there. Pa, who knows about the connection between Mom and Kristopher Gentian?"

Thoughtfully Vincent paused in his steps. "Joe Maxwell and her friend Jennifer Aronson."

After Jake had gone, Vincent stepped aimlessly through the tunnels and corridors. His instincts told him something was wrong. When he came back into his chamber, he went to the corner next to his bed and cleared away the books that were piled up on the floor there. Behind it he drew out a picture wrapped in a cloth. He carefully removed the cloth and inwardly braced himself against the pain that pierced him every time he saw the painting. Catherine and he are united in one painting, painted by an artist who was already considered dead at that time thirty years ago. The creation of this very special work remained a mystery to him and Catherine. Yes, it hurt to look at her in this picture because it was only an image and revealed so little about who she really was.

"Catherine," he whispered softly to himself. Memories that were blurred into distant dreams after so many years. Only the love in his heart remained unchangeable and Vincent knew that it was rooted in him forever and ever. He stared at this picture, which caused him a bitter-sweet pain that he feared and longed for at the same time.

_**New York; D.A.'s offices; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Sandra Lockley**_

"Hello, my name is Jacob Chandler. I'm here to get the files on the forged artworks." Jake went straight to the brunette and shook her hand.

"Sandra Lockley. I've already heard that the FBI wants to get on with it."

"That's right." Jake watched Sandra Lockley sit down again after getting up to greet him. She didn't seem in a hurry to give him the files. Instead, she closed a few windows on her computer.

"Did I disturb you?" Jake asked.

"No. Actually, it was still on the case." Sandra pulled a briefcase out of her desk. "Would you like to see for yourself or should I update you on our investigation?" Provoking she looked at him from below. Jake knew the local authorities didn't like the FBI taking the cases out of their hands.

"I have time," he said. "You can let me in on the details."

"Sit down," Sandra asked him. Then she began: "All five fake works of art come from the same artist."

Jake nodded.

She continued: "Two of the originals belong to a publisher, one to a politician, two are privately owned in England and Germany. The forgeries are good and elaborate, but were painted on new canvases. We found out that these canvases were made in Germany. The colors used also led us to suspect that the pictures were faked in Germany and brought here to New York."

"That's a lot," Jake said appreciatively.

"Yes, but that's when our problems start. We questioned the exhibitor who tried to sell the works underhand. He said that he had assumed that these were the originals, as it were undiscovered works by the artist. He got it from a foreign merchant he doesn't know or don't want to reveal."

"And can anything else be found out about the canvas and the colors," Jake asked.

"Sure," Sandra said, "but we haven't had a chance to contact the German authorities yet. The type of canvas is produced in a company in Berlin. Probably the colors too. The most direct way to find out would be to fly to Germany and talk to the people there."

Jake nodded understanding. He had to talk to his boss. "And it's all in the records?"

"Sure." Sandra Lockley handed him the folder.

Jake said goodbye to Sandra. They rose from their chairs at the desk in the middle of the open-plan office where Sandra had her place. Jake looked across the room and got stuck with the figure of Joe Maxwell, whom he saw walking up and down an office excitedly, only separated by a wide glass window. "Your boss seems very excited."

"Yeah. You know, as district attorney, time's short, and somehow he's in trouble with the city planning authority."

Jake didn't listen carefully anymore as he packed up the documents Sandra had given him.

"It's about construction work on the cemetery. Some of the graves are to be moved for this," Sandra babbled on cheerfully.

Suddenly Jake was wide awake. "Which cemetery?" He already suspected that he would not like the answer and was confirmed.

"But Maxwell has issued a restraining order against the building permit. It seems it's personal to him. I don't know either." Sandra shrugged it off.

Jake tried not to seem too curious, but couldn't resist another question. "What kind of construction work is it about? Where should be graves moved?"

Now Sandra looked at him in astonishment. "Hey, for someone from Washington, that seems to interest you very much. I can't tell you any more than that. Buy the paper. It had a big report in it today."

Jake put on an uninvolved face and said goodbye to Sandra. Maybe he just overreacted. Nevertheless, he bought a newspaper out on the street, the report of which did not reassure him at all. On the contrary, his worst fears have been confirmed. How would he teach that to his father?

_**New York; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Gerry Fisher, Vincent**_

First, Jake had to make a few phone calls. He couldn't reach his boss Gerry Fisher right away. In the meantime, he talked to some people who could give him the contact details in Berlin. Of course, the FBI also had people in the German capital to look around. Now his boss had to decide. He reached him late.

"I'm for you to keep this in your hand, Chandler." Gerry was, as usual, very decisive.

"Is this really necessary?" objected Jake. "I don't speak the language very well, nor do I know Berlin. There are people of ours on the ground who can do this much more discreetly."

"But you know exactly what this is about. I also had a phone call earlier with this politician whose picture was faked. He wants the case cleared up quickly, because otherwise he fears a loss of value if word spreads that pictures are faked on a larger scale. By the way, there is supposed to be an expert in Berlin, an American who is familiar with works of art. She helps our museums and authorities when it comes to the exchange of works of art and takes care of legal matters. Jessica Burton. Our embassy in Berlin will be able to give you the contact details. Few people know about that. I got the name underhand, so to speak, in confidence. Maybe the lady can help you even more than one of our regular staff."

Jake was uncomfortable. He didn't like leaving New York now. He had a bad feeling, but he couldn't tell Gerry. "So you want me to fly to Berlin?"

"Yes, make sure you get a seat on the next plane."

Jake admitted defeat. It lasted until late in the evening until he had arranged everything. His flight to Germany left early the next morning. Again he visited the tunnels below the city within a few days. He still knew the entrances very well, except for the changes that had been made since his departure. The tunnel dwellers regularly changed some paths and entrances to ensure their safety. Much had changed in the past seventeen years anyway. Since September 11, 2001, the date was also special for the people in the tunnels and marked a turning point. The collapse of the two towers of the World Trade Center had changed the world of tunnels forever. Some of the chambers and tunnels near the towers had collapsed. People had been trapped and could no longer be freed in time. Jake closed his eyes for a moment. He could still remember the fear and horror he had felt as a boy. For days, even weeks, the men and women had worked downstairs trying to turn every stone over. Nevertheless, some could only be recovered dead and some could not be recovered at all. Part of the underground world had been lost forever. As he pondered, Jake reached the entrance at 53rd Street and knocked on the pipes.

When he stood before his father, the words were missing, but they were no longer necessary anyway.

"I have to fly to Germany tomorrow."

"That's not why you came," Vincent replied, knowing.

"You know about this already?"

"That they want to move your mother's grave? Yes." Vincent seemed tired, as Jake noted with concern.

"How are you doing with that?"

Vincent began to walk restlessly up and down. "How am I supposed to do that? I won't be able to stop it," he said resignedly.

"The district attorney's office has issued an injunction against the building permit. I guess that's why Joe Maxwell was so upset yesterday."

Vincent frowned. "It was about the reburial at the cemetery?"

"Apparently. Somehow, I think it affects him personally. Anyway, he's trying to do everything in his power to stop the whole thing."

"Then we both hope he succeeds."

"Pa," Jake swallowed, "I'm worried about you."

Vincent shook his head unwilling. "Even when I'm old or because I'm old, I know life goes on. We won't be able to stop it." There was that trace of resignation in that weary voice again.

Jake left the tunnels worried. He would stay at a hotel near the airport. The last few years had alienated him from his father and the world below. But he could not and did not want to imagine that in the world, in his world, his father could no longer exist.

Even during the flight to Germany Jake thought for a long time. He did not want to get carried away by any entertainment programs or movies on the screen. Too much had happened in the last few days that he had not expected. Maybe it was really better to concentrate on the current case, which is why he flew to Germany at all. To that extent, his father was right. In the end, they could not do anything about the planned construction measures. How long Joe Maxwell's restraining order would last was more than questionable. Normally, money and economic interests always prevailed. They were powerless against it. But what would Joe Maxwell do?

_**Berlin; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, James Madison **_

It was raining in Berlin. Jake was picked up at the airport by an employee of the American embassy and taken to a small hotel in the city centre. He was not supposed to meet his contact man until the next morning, the embassy staff member told him. Jacob didn't like that much, as it meant another loss of time, but he had deliberately not yet booked the return flight, as he wanted to wait and see how the investigation developed. Jake took in the impressions of the strange city. Berlin had nothing in common with American cities. Not a skyline, but a kind of peaceful tranquility. He had been here for a day on business and had only had a brief look at the Brandenburg Gate on which the American Embassy was located. Restlessly he walked up and down the room. He felt strangely restless and decided to go out that night. Maybe he found a pub somewhere where he could spend the time. He had already thought carefully about the case on the plane. He wanted to talk to the contact man from the FBI, possibly visit the German authorities and perhaps also this company that produced the canvas and paints with which the pictures had been forged. Maybe his contact could also say something about this Jessica Burton, who according to his boss could be helpful. He took his jacket and walked aimlessly through the city centre. There he found an Irish Pub near the Friedrichstraße S-Bahn station directly on the banks of the Spree. Many tourists seemed to romp around here and live music was played. Jake had two beers. The inner restlessness remained. Something was not right at all without him somehow grasping it. Did it have to do with things in New York? He left the pub and went back to his hotel? In his room he just took off his shoes and lay down on the bed. Silence. Far from the road downstairs he could still hear the traffic noise. Further away, sirens were howling. The typical sounds of a big city. Otherwise just silence. Darkness. And a strange throb. Strange and somehow familiar. And very close. Jake focused. What was that? It seemed as if someone else's feelings and thoughts were taking possession of him. He felt the throbbing heartbeat that wasn't his own. He felt a strange closeness to familiarity. Calm thoughts, kindness. And love. He could feel an infinite love. And then deep, endless sadness combined with such pain that he grasped himself at the chest, at the same time with the awareness that he was experiencing exactly what his father had always told him about. Jake sat up abruptly. He had always perceived this throbbing only far away, now it was near. Very close. He held his breath as he became aware of the meaning.

He slept badly that night. As a matter of fact, hardly at all. Thoughts tortured his brain. And that heartbeat pounded in him. Unceasing. So close. It didn't stop and didn't move away. He couldn't reach his father now to ask his advice. What could he ask him? Was it the same between him and his mother? It was like that, he knew it. It was this deep feeling. He was absolutely sure. The question was what he should do now.

James Madison picked him up the next morning at the hotel. "Mr. Chandler, I'm James Madison, field agent in Berlin."

Jake greeted the colleague with a handshake.

"How was the flight?"

"Long," Jake replied monosyllabic. He didn't feel like exchanging trivialities. He felt tired and shattered. "Have you been briefed on the details of the case?"

"It's about art forgery, isn't it?" Now James Madison was on duty. He was Jake's age, a little shorter with dark hair and wearing a suit.

"Yes, I'm supposed to try to get some information here."

"We have the address of this company with the canvas and we can go to the museum, where one of Kristopher Gentian's paintings that was also faked is currently on display."

"I didn't know that," Jake replied. "I thought it was private property."

"The owner has made it available for a current exhibition," James Madison willingly provided information. They were still standing in the hotel lobby where Madison intercepted Jake.

"Okay," Jake said, "then let's get started."

They left the lobby and went to a dark VW saloon with tinted windows. I guess it couldn't have been more striking, Jake thought to himself. Madison at least knew his way around and drove safely through the dense city traffic.

"In New York, I was tipped off that a certain Jessica Burton could help. An American woman who has lived in the city for a long time."

"Jessica Burton?"

"Yes."

"Hm," Madison said, "as far as I know, she works for the embassy from time to time."

"Does she know anything about art?"

"I don't know," Madison shrugged, "I personally have never seen her and I don't know what she really does. But I'd be happy to check with the embassy."

"Yes, that would be good."

_**Berlin; Jessica Burton**_

The alarm clock beeped loudly and audibly. She turned around once more. It was earlier than usual. That was the date she had this morning. She used to sleep late when she could. That is, when sleep was merciful to her and she was enveloped in hours of forgetfulness, which was not often the case. At the second beep she got up after all. The sense of duty, of course. After all, it took her longer to get ready. For breakfast, a toast and a cup of coffee. Some habits didn't change. A quick look in the mirror before she left her small apartment in Berlin Mitte. Jessica Burton was satisfied with her appearance. A dark fabric pants, white blouse and a dark red blazer, plus black pumps. It shouldn't rain today. She still looked good for her age. She closed the door behind her and went to the elevator. Depending on how punctually the S-Bahn ran today, it would meet its deadline in time. Over her shoulder she carried a large leather shoulder bag with the documents of the case she was currently working on. Officially, she brokered loans of art objects from museums to other museums. Unofficially, tracking down missing works of art was part of her profession and had become a life's work. Today she met with an informant in the Hamburger Bahnhof, where the works of contemporary artists were exhibited. She did not know if the meeting would be useful, it was always worthwhile to establish and maintain contacts that could be relied on in case of an emergency. Fortunately, everything went smoothly and she reached the museum on time.

_**Berlin; Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

Around noon Jacob felt increasingly annoyed. James Madison had driven him to the company that made the canvases. It was located in the eastern part of Berlin on an old factory site, some of which fell into disrepair. Some offices and warehouses were in a demolished condition and were closed off by fences. Other parts of the area had been more or less refurbished and renovated and were occupied by companies. The whole area seemed neglected. Jake could well imagine that the place was also a good place to go for illegal activities at night. It took them endlessly until they found the company on the huge area, which only revealed its presence by a small sign next to the entrance. There was no bell. 'Zimmermann' was written on a sign. Nothing else. Since no one else could be seen either, the two men entered the building spontaneously through a metal door, which signaled each entry with a long audible squeak. They stood in a hallway with yellowed walls and a shabby beige linoleum floor. Further back, the corridor ended in an open door which, as it got closer, emerged as a passageway to a kind of storage and production hall from which voices came. Jake and his colleague stepped confidently into the hall and took a quick look at the workbenches and storage shelves.

James Madison, who spoke better German than Jake, took the floor: "Excuse me..." Two men, standing with their backs to them at a workbench and talking, turned to them.

"Yes, please?" A tall dark-haired man in his forties replied. "What do you want?"

"We'd like to speak to the owner of the company, Mr. Zimmermann."

Both men grinned meaningfully.

"We'd like to see him too," the dark-haired man replied.

"Is there anyone else from the office?" Seeking, Madison looked around.

"What do you want?" asked the other man, who had been quiet so far. "You're not from around here, are you?"

James Madison didn't answer the question while Jake measured the hall. He saw a staircase leading up at the back end. He nodded to his colleague. "Up there."

The other two men in jeans and spotty sweaters saw his gaze. Demonstratively, they stood in the way of the two agents.

"There's nothing," said the dark-haired harshly.

For a brief moment, the men valued themselves.

James Madison said, "If you can tell us when your boss is coming, we'll come back later."

The dark-haired one came closer, with a hammer in his hand. "This could take a while." The other man also came closer with leisurely steps in an aggressive manner.

The FBI agents felt that the situation could escalate. "Then we'll come back later," Madison said and wanted to turn away.

The little silent one already lifted his fist and wanted to hit. Well trained, Madison avoided the punch in time. Jake, on the other hand, faced the dark-haired one with the hammer. He made it clear that attack was the best defense and unexpectedly kicked his opponent's knee. Then he put him out of action with two well-trained blows.

"Come, let's go," he said to Madison, who had the other man on the ground just as quickly.

He nodded and they left the building knowing that something was completely wrong.

"We should talk to the local police. However, it may take time to get official access or to locate the owner."

"Then we shouldn't get too attached to this company. Maybe it wouldn't help us anyway. Whether the person or persons behind the fakes bought the canvases directly here with their real names, is more than questionable." Jake knew there was something wrong, but he was more practical and thought about where to get information the fastest way. "How about we go to the embassy and see this Jessica Burton. If she really is such an art expert, as I was told, then maybe she can help us much sooner."

Madison shrugged his shoulders. It took them a while to get back to the centre through the dense city traffic. They had no problem coming to the embassy immediately with their IDs. Madison called from the car earlier and signed her up. The receptionist did not know Jessica Burton and referred her to another employee. He just shrugged his shoulders until Madison made it very clear to him that it was an FBI investigation and he knew that said Jessica Burton was working for the embassy.

The employee disappeared and they waited for half an hour. Jake didn't know what the problem was. Finally, a tall African American entered the meeting room where they had been waiting. He introduced himself as a security officer at the embassy and Jake tried once again to explain the facts in brief sentences.

The head of security, Samuel Henderson, first nodded sympathetically, then shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, we can't help you in this matter."

Again Madison objected: "But I know that Jessica Burton works for the Embassy. All you have to do is let us talk to her. Or tell us where to find her."

"Like I said, we can't help you."

Jake narrowed his eyes. It was obvious that they were blocked. "What about this Jessica Burton?" he asked outright. "Why can't we talk to her?"

Samuel Henderson looked at him challenging. "No Jessica Burton works here."

"What? That can't be, your employee had talked about her last week," Madison objected again.

Jake stayed calm. He knew the security guard was lying and wouldn't give them any more information. Something about this Mrs. Burton seemed more important than helping to solve a case. He wrote his name, hotel and phone number on a note and gave it to Samuel Henderson. "Here, in case you remember and Jessica Burton does show up. My name is Jacob Chandler from the FBI and I'll be in town at least until the end of the week." He looked urgently at the security officer. "It would be really helpful if we could get support in that case." Then he left the embassy with Madison. They were really treading water at the moment.

Jacob arranged to meet Madison outside the museum entrance the next day. He felt frustrated by the case. It should be possible to reach his boss by now. Annoyed, he called him from his hotel room. "Gerry, I'm sorry, I don't have any new information on the case yet. In particular, we can't get close to this Jessica Burton. The embassy blocked us out. There's no Jessica Burton working there. But I suspect it's a lie."

"Stand by. Don't let them get rid of you. Tell the security there that our case is as important as the others Miss Burton is handling."

After a short exchange they said goodbye to each other. Jake decided to take a shower. Then he would deal with his other problem, finding this woman he felt.

_**Berlin; Jessica Burton**_

"Miss Burton, do you have a moment?"

Jessica turned to the African-American. Samuel Henderson from security faced her. "What is it?"

"Two men from the FBI came to see you this afternoon."

Jessica frowned and waited for further explanations.

"They wanted to see you. It's about a case of art forgery in New York, and somehow the agent from Washington got her name. I told them you're not known here. I wanted to talk to you first."

"Art forgery in New York? I read something about it. It was just a small report, so I assumed nothing further is known."

"Some tracks probably lead to Berlin. That's why someone from Washington is here." Samuel Henderson hesitated for a moment. "What do you think, do you want to talk to him? He wrote down his hotel and his phone number." Henderson handed her the note. "Jacob Chandler."

Jessica Burton had already raised her hand to take the piece of paper from him and froze. "What did you say the name was?"

"FBI Agent Jacob Chandler. Is something wrong?" Henderson felt her hesitation. "If you do not want to deal with it, I will continue to block it."

As if in slow motion, Jessica took the note from him and stared at it. What a beautiful handwriting, she thought fleetingly. Then she regained her composure and looked into his questioning face. "I'll... I'll think about it. I'll let you know."

"Good." Henderson nodded and said goodbye.

Jessica Burton did not remember later how she had left the embassy building and got to her apartment. Carefully as always, she locked the apartment door from the inside, put down her jacket and bag and sat down on the sofa. She didn't believe in coincidences, but she knew how fate could change a life. Forever.

_**Berlin; Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

Jake made up for some sleep after the shower. Then he got dressed and took the elevator down to the lobby. He wanted to drift around the city and get some food somewhere. As far as his personal problem was concerned, he had not yet come to a conclusion. The feeling of closeness to her, whoever she was, had intensified and seemed closer than ever, but maybe he just imagined it. The hotel lobby was full of people. A whole group seemed to have just arrived at the reception. He refrained from asking for a good restaurant there. He had to go on his own and search, although he didn't know much about the city. He left the hotel and went in the same direction as last night. He was dodging people on the sidewalk. Others overtook him while he took his time and absorbed the impressions of the city. The feeling of closeness remained. He felt it exactly. It remained constantly at the same distance, very close, and did not move away even as he went on and on. Abruptly he stopped and quickly turned around. He had walked along a busy street with fast food restaurants and souvenir shops. Several people walked past him and he tried to grasp something somewhere. A face, a figure, anything that would appeal to him immediately. He felt inside him and felt fear and nervous, excited palpitations. Slowly he turned around again and continued on his way. The palpitations followed at the same distance. What the hell was going on here? He let himself drift, alert and irritated at the same time. At a market place in front of an S-Bahn station he sat down at a table outside a restaurant, because he was very hungry in the meantime. After studying the map and placing his order, he looked around searching again. Many tourists sat at the neighboring tables. When he had received his drink, he took the card again. Not to read, but to search unobtrusively over the edge, table after table in its surroundings. Families with children, a group of young women. He turned his chair around to sit more relaxed and had a better view to the other side. Again his gaze slipped from table to table. A middle-aged couple in lively conversation, an elegantly dressed elderly woman with sunglasses, two women eating behind her. Her closeness was as constant as ever. Whoever she was, she was here, but since he didn't know her, he didn't know what to do. When his food arrived, he decided to give in to hunger. He had no idea how to deal with this situation. Nothing his father had told him matched what he experienced here. After dinner, he paid the bill and went back to the hotel. The jetlag was in his bones, and it would be better if he slept well. He was followed on his way. His training had sharpened his instinct for such things. But when he turned around from time to time, nothing unusual struck him. Normal people. Tourists, families, an older woman with sunglasses. He knew he wouldn't solve this problem that night.

_**Berlin; Jessica Burton**_

Unlike Jake, Jessica Burton was awake for a long time. She smiled into the darkness, pervaded by a painful, bittersweet feeling. He's as tall as his father, she thought. A tall, handsome 30-year-old man. Of course she had not been able to resist. She just had to see him. Nothing could have stopped her. But of course, she couldn't have met him. She continued smiling into the darkness while tears ran down her cheeks.

_**Berlin; Museum; Jakes Hotel; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, James Madison, Rebekka Rose, Benjamin Keller, Jessica Burton, Clarence (a helper in New York)**_

Jake overslept the next morning. He no longer managed to have breakfast, but hurried to the reception to have his way to the Hamburger Bahnhof, the museum where he wanted to meet James Madison. Since he did not really understand the directions, he finally called a cab, which dropped him off in front of the museum ten minutes late. There he met James Madison, who looked at him discontentedly.

"Sorry I'm late. I overslept."

"It's okay. I went to the embassy this morning and asked about Jessica Burton again. At least now they don't say she doesn't work there."

Jake raised his eyebrows questioningly. "But..."

"But she let us know that unfortunately she is not able to help us."

"Oh."

Madison nodded grimly. "It seems that everything and everyone is against us in this matter."

"And what are we doing here in the museum now?"

"We can take a look at the picture of Kristopher Gentian that's on display here right now. We are registered with the museum director."

The two men went in resolutely to the reception.

They were greeted in English. "Good morning, gentlemen." A nice pretty young woman looked at her friendly with a smile. "My name is Rebekka Rose. I'm the assistant to Dr. Lau, the museum director." She seemed to be waiting for the FBI agents.

"We're registered," Madison explained.

"I know. I'll take you to his office."

They were led through several corridors to an elevator and drove to the top floor. The offices were in a side wing. The museum itself was located in the hall of a former railway station. Jake looked around curiously. Upstairs they walked through a long corridor again.

"Dr. Lau?" Rebekka Rose knocked on the door. "Dr. Lau, are you there?" No one answered. "Strange. Usually he is always there early in the morning." Mrs. Rose looked at both apologetically.

Jake got a bad feeling. The typically bad feeling of a policeman. "We had the appointment, didn't we?" he asked.

Again the assistant shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "It's not his style either. Dr. Lau is always very punctual and meticulously keeps all promises."

Jake pushed past her and pushed the door handle down. It wasn't locked. They came into a large office. The shutters were lowered, so that the room lay in the dark.

"Fuck." Madison first saw the motionless figure lying on the floor. He knelt beside it and felt his pulse. "He's dead."

"Oh, my God." Rebekka Rose turned snow-white on her face and seemed to tip over at any moment.

Jake tried to reassure her by saying, "Please go out." He slowly led her out of the room. "Can you call the police?"

At first she looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then she nodded and pulled out her mobile phone. The phone call only lasted a short time. "They're coming," she said soundlessly afterwards.

Jake nodded. "Okay. Please make sure no one else comes in here."

Hardly pronounced promptly another employee came around the corner. "Rebekka? Is the boss in?"

Rebekka Rose shook her head only mechanically. "No..."

"Listen, please leave." Jake tried to remember his German language skills.

"What? Why?"

"Please." He looked urgently at Rebekka Rose. "Help us and keep everyone at a distance."

Rebekka regained her self-control and nodded decisively.

Jake went back to Madison in the office. "Police are on their way."

"He was beaten to death. That's all I can see for now. This is then also a matter for the German authorities."

Jake nodded. "Except for the fact that we had an appointment with Dr. Lau this morning."

They waited until the police arrived. The usual forensics procedure began. The two FBI agents provided information about themselves and the appointment they had with Dr. Lau. This took almost the whole morning. Jake's growling stomach reminded him of the missing breakfast. At least the opportunity arose to establish contact with the German authorities. A moment of excitement arose when an employee of the museum made his way to the police and told the senior official something. Jake and Madison had stood aside and watched the scene.

Benjamin Keller, the leading German crime expert, waved them to him. "The picture you were talking about that was supposed to hang here at the museum. Who's that from again?"

"Kristopher Gentian."

Keller nodded. "Interesting," he just said, "it's gone."

"What?"

"Probably stolen. And probably the murder of Dr. Lau had something to do with it."

James Madison and Jake looked at each other meaningfully. It was getting more and more mysterious. "What's with this painting that someone stole? Was it particularly valuable," Madison asked into the room.

Keller apologetically raised his shoulders. "The investigation will have to reveal that, but we're still at the beginning."

"So far, it's only been a case of art fake for us," Jake said.

"Now it's murder," Keller stated. "We should definitely talk. Maybe we can work together and see what you've already found out."

Jake nodded. "I have to get backing from my boss, but I don't think that's a problem if we want to solve this case."

Keller nodded. "I'll sort it out with us."

"Do you still need us here?" Madison handed Keller his card with phone number and address. "I'm always available and Mr. Chandler can be reached via his hotel and mobile number."

"Yes, all right," Keller said, "then we can clear the formalities and maybe meet tomorrow at the police station."

The men nodded their farewells. On leaving, Jake saw Rebekka Rose talking to an older woman who seemed strangely familiar to him. He approached the two women with the intention of saying goodbye to Mrs. Rose politely. The stranger looked past Rebekka to him and was visibly startled. Before Jake could reach her, she said goodbye hastily and hurried out. Confused by the hasty farewell of her interlocutor, Rebekka Rose turned to face him. "Mr. Chandler," she said surprised, "you're still here?"

"Yes," Jake was still looking out. "I wanted to say goodbye to you. I'm very sorry about your boss." Now he looked directly at her.

Rebekka nodded seriously. "Me too."

Jake nodded to the exit. "Who was that woman you were just talking to?"

"Oh, that was Mrs. Burton. She's something of a lawyer for art objects."

"Mrs. Jessica Burton?" Jake checked.

Confused, Rebekka looked at him. "Yes. Why? Do you know her?"

"Not yet, but I'd love to meet her," Jake said grimly and ran for the exit. Outside the entrance were police cars and curious people. There was no sign of Jessica Burton. "Shit." He went back to Rebekka. "Why was she here?"

"Oh, she's often here. She works for your government with museums from all over the world when it comes to the exchange of works of art and legal matters." Embarrassed, Rebekka paused. Jake encouraged her to keep talking with a smile. "She met Dr. Lau more often, too, so I know."

"Do you have her address?" Jake asked.

"I'd have to look for it. Usually she only had direct contact with Dr. Lau." Rebekka looked at him apologizing.

"Please try to find something." Jake gave her his phone number. "We really need to talk to Mrs. Burton." They said goodbye to each other.

Jake nodded Madison grimly. "There's this Burton running almost into our arms." Jessica Burton had literally fled from him. He didn't know her, but obviously Jessica Burton knew him. He had felt her panic like his own. Silently, he walked beside Madison.

In the FBI office he phoned his boss and got permission to cooperate with the German authorities. Keller didn't have time until the next day, after all. Again they had to wait.

"Why don't you go and see the city?" Madison tore him out of his thoughts. "There's nothing we can do right now anyway."

Jake said nothing back. He was still pondering the near encounter with Jessica Burton. Something was wrong here. Back at the hotel, he checked his calls and emails on his smartphone. A colleague had questions about his last case. And a call from New York. The number looked familiar to him. He pressed callback.

It was one of the helpers. "Jake, is that you?"

"Yes, Clarence. What's up, that you call me?" Jake felt anxiety. Usually he had no contact with the helpers.

"Jake, where are you?"

"In Germany."

"Damn!"

"Clarence? What's the matter?"

"Jake, did you hear what's going on here in New York?"

"Are you talking about the construction work at the cemetery?"

"Yes. They got away with it in court and started moving the graves. You should definitely come."

"I can't do that. I'm working on an urgent case."

"Jake, I got a message from Pascal from below. Your father's not well. I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important."

Jake grinded his teeth. The guilty conscience was back. Whenever he was reminded of how seldom he showed up in the tunnels and with his father. He was thinking. Maybe he could talk to Gerry and fly back to New York for a day or two. Madison was able to follow the case on his own for so long. Blimey, just now, when it came to murder. "Listen, Clarence. I have to organize this first. Can I reach you at this number?"

"Yes, of course. So that means you're coming."

"I need to talk to my boss first and see when I can get a plane to New York."

"I'm sorry, Jake, but this is really serious. Pascal thinks that your father somehow gives himself up."

Jake swallowed. "Thanks for calling, Clarence." He hung up. He sat on the bed for a while, staring straight ahead.

Jacob's boss Gerry didn't react enthusiastically. Jake gave him family problems as a reason why he had to go to New York during the ongoing investigation. As a compromise, he stayed the next day to exchange information with the German detective Keller. Everything else should be done by James Madison himself. Trying to get to Jessica Burton was still a headache for Jake. He wanted to talk to her himself. Something drew him to this woman and he was sure that it also had to do with his inner perception of her presence. On the other hand, it made sense for him to talk to his father. The heartbeat and the thoughts of a woman he felt so close here had a meaning. His father knew about such a meaning and the possible effects, as he himself had such a thing with his son. One reason Jake had gone his own way out in the world. It had taken him a long time not to have the feeling that he was being watched by his father.

His flight was in the evening. He packed his suitcase at the hotel and informed Clarence in New York who wanted to send a message into the tunnels. To reassure, as he said. Jake was just leaving the room when there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, Rebekka Rose stood before him. He looked at her in surprise.

"Good evening, Mr. Chandler," she said with a smile. "I was hoping I'd still find you here. Your colleague told me you were flying to New York tonight."

"Yes. Why don't you come in?" Jake opened the door wider.

Rebekka entered the room and stopped in the middle of the room. "I won't keep you long," she said, "but you asked about Mrs. Burton."

"Yes," Jake immediately said, "do you have her address?"

"Not that, but her phone number." Rebekka looked at him apologizing. "Dr. Lau's office was sealed by the police, so I couldn't look there. However, I could remember that last week I took a phone call from Mrs. Burton for Dr. Lau and the phone number was still stored." With these words she handed Jake a note with a German landline number.

"0049/030/7774477," he read aloud.

"That's the number. Mrs. Burton called from this number more than once."

Jake nodded. "Thank you very much."

"I don't know if this will help you." Rebekka looked at him with a smile. "You looked so disappointed yesterday when Mrs. Burton was gone."

Jake smiled back spontaneously, then looked at his watch. "Blimey, I gotta get to the airport."

"I'll be there by car," Rebekka said, "should I take you there?"

Jake nodded gratefully. "That would be nice, but only if you call me Jake."

Relieved, Rebekka looked at him. "All right. Most people call me Becka."

For a moment they looked at each other by mutual agreement. Then Jake took his suitcase and they left the hotel together.

_**New York; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Clarence**_

During the flight to New York, Jake thought of Rebekka and hoped that he could fly to Berlin again for her sake too. Then he managed to sleep on the plane for at least a few hours. In New York, he took a cab into the city.

Before he went into the tunnels, he went to Clarence. The old man opened the door for him immediately. "Good thing you're here, boy," he said, slowly shuffling back to his couch.

"Yes, I wanted to let you know that I'm here now. I'm on my way to Pa."

"That's good, that's very good." Clarence breathed heavily.

"Is there any news from the construction work at the cemetery? Is my mother's grave even affected?"

"Jake", Clarence stopped for a moment and swallowed heavily. "That's just the point. They were at your mother's grave yesterday." He fell silent abruptly and collapsed.

"Well?" Jake looked at him questioningly. "So they moved it?"

Clarence shook his head and stared straight ahead. "No."

"No?"

Now Clarence looked him straight in the face. "No. They found nothing. Jake, your mother's grave was empty."

Speechless, Jake looked at the helper. "But..."

Clarence continued. "Somehow the press got wind of this. There was an article in the paper today. Your father already knows."

Horrified, Jake stared at him.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Jake**_

"Pa." As he stood in front of his father, Jake didn't know what to say.

"He's been sitting there all day saying nothing." Pascal had gone with him to Vincent.

"When did you get the message?" Jake asked.

"This morning."

"Pa?"

His father sat in the large leather-covered chair with the armrests, which had been standing in this chamber for ages.

"Please leave me alone with him," Jake asked Pascal quietly.

He just nodded and disappeared with a worried face.

"Pa, I came all the way back from Germany. Clarence has informed me."

Finally Vincent looked at him. "What did he tell you." The voice sounded rougher than usual.

"What's in the papers. Pa, I'll make inquiries. It's possible none of that's true."

Ponderously Vincent got up and walked a few steps up and down. Then he looked at his son. "Who do you want to check with? And what?"

Jake had a stutter. "Well..."

"Wherever you ask, they would immediately raise suspicion if you asked about your mother's grave as Jacob Chandler." Vincent got to the point.

"I'll think of something," Jake said, "we'll somehow get to information."

His father looked at him thoughtfully. "And then?"

"What do you mean, Pa?"

"Jacob, I don't know...," Vincent hesitated. "I'm afraid of what you might find out."

"Pa," Jake tried to calm him down, "there's usually nothing true in these newspaper reports or there's some logical explanation."

"And if it doesn't?" Vincent tightened his shoulders. Then he said firmly: "Jacob, do nothing."

"What?"

"Let the matter rest", his father turned his back on him. "You're probably right that there's a logical reason."

"Pa, I'm definitely going to investigate. Just so we can be sure and you can sleep peacefully."

"Sleep?" Vincent shook his head. "Why do I need sleep? No, Jacob. Do not wake sleeping memories and nothing else that should rest better."

"You can't stop me." Jake turned to leave.

"Jacob, I forbid it."

Jake left the room with a shrug and a crooked smile towards his father. He was too old for such prohibitions.

_**Berlin; Jessica Burton**_

Jessica Burton left the American Embassy in Berlin. In addition to drawing up the legal details of a contract for the lending of works of art to the USA, she casually asked Henderson about the two FBI agents. The information that Jacob Chandler had flown back to the USA had made her a bit calmer. But also more melancholic. Internally, she mourned the impossible possibilities and yet also felt gratitude.

It was getting late. She just wanted to get into her apartment and after a light dinner with a good book and classical music distract herself until she was tired enough to sleep for a few hours. In Berlin's city centre, the usual chaos of traffic and people prevailed, just like in any other large city. The city was big, loud and full, perfect for immersion. An absolute prerequisite for Jessica's existence. Nevertheless, her senses were sharpened, especially also by the experiences of the last days. The death of Dr. Lau would certainly continue to occupy the media and the cultural scene for some time. Jessica herself was also worried. On the way between the S-Bahn station and her apartment she looked around several times and could not avoid the feeling that she was being watched. She resolutely climbed the stairs to her apartment. She wasn't afraid. Only people who had something to lose were afraid. She unlocked the apartment door and wondered. Usually she would turn the key twice when she locked the door. Today the lock could be opened with one turn. Correspondingly carefully she entered her apartment and looked around. Her eyes were looking for unusual details in their familiar surroundings. Was there anything different than usual? She found no clue either in the hallway or in the living room or bedroom. Jessica threw her purse on the bed and took off her clothes. A shower would surely do her good.

When she came out of the bathroom half an hour later, she actually felt better. But the feeling vanished abruptly. Her purse wasn't lying on the bed the way she threw it. From the living room she heard a short creak that she knew about the sideboard that was standing there. She held her breath for a moment. Then she quietly opened the drawer of her nightstand and took out her gun with determination.

_**New York; Cemetery; Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

Only when Jake had left the tunnels and stood in Central Park did he realize that he hadn't talked to his father about the tangible connection he had felt with a woman in Berlin. He rejected the idea of going back again and thought about what he should do now.

His father had been right in his objection that he would only attract attention if he wanted to find out something. Nevertheless, he did not want to let the matter rest. He was looking for a logical explanation. Where the hell should he start?

Later he himself did not know exactly how he had come to the cemetery. Part of the facility was closed. Ever since he could think he connected this place with the memory of his mother. Ever since his father had brought him here in the dark for the first time. Ever since he could think he connected this place with the memory of his mother. Since his father first led him here in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness. He had told him a lot. About how he had found her in Central Park and how much he had loved her.

Jake didn't know her. He didn't know what kind of person she had been. He only knew her from his father's stories. But if she had had the courage to love his father with his appearance, she must have been truly unique. She had died the night he was born. Murdered by a sinister mafia guy named Gabriel, who kidnapped him as a baby. Jake swallowed heavily. She had given him life and paid with hers. He walked to the barrier and looked over to the point where her grave had been. Even the stone had already been removed. When he decided to go above and become a policeman, he took her name. It seemed natural to him at the time and should also be a sign to his father that he would not forget where he came from. Jake resolutely turned around. Should people ask? He had no reason to be ashamed of his name. Outside the cemetery he called a taxi. "To the DA's office, please."

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Pascal**_

Vincent sat for a long time in his chamber and pondered. Thoughts circled through his mind. Why were things so out of whack now? He carefully held in his hands the white porcelain rose, Catherine had given him for her first anniversary. That was so long ago. An eternity. The memory of it seemed like a distant dream. He loved those dreams that carried him away from that room and from that time, into another world and another life. In recent years he had retreated more and more. Since his son had gone above and Vincent had to learn that he no longer wanted to be protected. After father's death it had been difficult for him to talk to others about his feelings and thoughts. He had become an old man who lived in his memories. He got up and his steps led him to Pascal.

"Maybe Jake will find out something," Pascal said optimistically.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Vincent replied.

"Why? Maybe there's an explanation and you can relax afterwards."

"And if it doesn't?" Vincent's voice sounded rough. "Pascal... I'm afraid all those memories are coming back. Memories of Catherine's death. There are things I don't want to remember."

"Yes, I know. But you can't tell Jake what to do and what not to do."

"I'm afraid he's in danger."

"You don't know," Pascal said reassuringly.

"I'll keep an eye on him while he's in New York. The bond to him still exists. I will protect him."

Pascal was surprised at the strength with which his friend spoke.

Vincent listened inside himself. He felt the bond with his son. It was still there, as it had existed before with Catherine. He knew where Jacob was and how he felt. Vincent resolutely raised his shoulders. As long as Jacob was in New York, he could protect him.

_**Berlin; Apartment; Jessica Burton**_

Jessica was tiptoeing around the room. The gun in her hand was loaded. It wouldn't be the first time she'd have to use it. Caution was as much a part of her life as the danger that had surrounded her for years. Whatever the reason, something dangerous came back into her life.

Carefully she peered into the living room and saw no one. There was nothing to be seen. She couldn't have been wrong. Her instinct for danger had become so sensitive over the years that she knew when something was wrong. She stopped in the open door and looked searchingly through space. She felt him. Right next to her. There was someone in the room. She resolutely took the door handle and rammed the door into the wall with all her might, meeting the uninvited visitor who was hiding behind it, as expected. She heard a loud moan, pulled the door away again in a flash and pointed her gun at the stranger.

"What do you want?"

A dark-haired man with a southern look writhed in a painful position in the corner. Unfortunately, his silenced gun didn't fall out of his hand and Jessica understood why he was here.

_**New York; Office of the District Attorney; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Joe Maxwell**_

Jake felt the rush in the D.A.'s offices. People were running around excited. He was looking for Sandra Lockley, but she wasn't there. He looked over at Joe Maxwell's office. Through the glass front he could see him standing, the phone in his hand. He seemed nervous.

As if attracted by a magnet, Jake headed for the office.

"Stop! You can't just go in there," cried an assistant sitting at a desk next to the office.

Jake ignored her and entered the office without knocking. Joe Maxwell looked up and immediately hung up the phone.

He looked at Jake in surprise. "What are you doing here?" He did not wait for the answer and continued: "Listen, if you need more information about this art forgery case, please contact the responsible staff member."

"That's not why I'm here," Jake replied briefly.

Joe Maxwell narrowed his eyes to slits. "Then why?"

"I need to ask you something and I hope you can help me."

"Listen, I have a lot of work to do and I need to make an urgent phone call..."

"It's about the construction work on the cemetery," Jake interrupted him. He watched Maxwell's posture stiffen involuntarily and his gaze suddenly became alert. "You wanted to stop the work. Why?"

"Why do you want to know?"

For a moment, Jake hesitated: "Personal reasons," he just said.

Joe Maxwell narrowed his eyes to slits again. "Personal reasons? What was your name again? Chandler, isn't it?"

Jake felt his heart beating loudly in his chest.

"Who the hell are you," Joe Maxwell asked in a mixture of horror and disbelief.

Jake tightened his shoulders. "My name is Jacob Chandler. I need to know why you wanted to stop it."

Speechless, Maxwell looked at him. Slowly a realization in him seemed to gain the upper hand.

There was a riot outside the office door. When Jake took a quick look through the glass window, he saw cops.

Joe Maxwell followed his gaze. "Damn!"

"What's going on?" Jake asked. "What are the police here for?"

"I suspect because of me. I'm running out of time." Only for a fraction of a second did Joe Maxwell hesitate. "Listen," he then said to Jake, "I'm not quite sure who you are, but you have to do something for me. It's important."

The office door opened and two policemen entered the room. Joe jotted something down on a piece of paper.

"Mr. Maxwell, you're under arrest," one of the officers told him.

Joe handed Jake the note. "Please call this number. That's abroad." He looked urgently at Jake. "A woman will come forward. Just tell her the door's open. Just this. Nothing else. Please..."

"Mr. Maxwell, you're under arrest," the policeman repeated and took him by the arm. "Please come with me."

Amazed, Jake watched Joe Maxwell being taken away under the astonished gaze of the employees.

"Call this number," Maxwell called him. "It's a matter of life and death."

_**Berlin; Apartment; Jessica Burton**_

Jessica held the gun on the stranger. "Drop your weapon."

The stranger gasped and looked at her carefully.

"Now!" Her voice got loud.

He grinned mockingly. He pointed his gun at her in a flash. Jessica shot. The stranger collapsed on the wall. Carefully Jessica approached and pushed the stranger's weapon, which had fallen out of his hand, aside. He didn't move. She knelt down and felt his pulse. He was still alive, but unconscious. She carefully searched his pockets. She found some cash, but no identification or anything personal that would have indicated his identity. She straightened herself up again, undecided what she should do now. She was able to contact Henderson at the American Embassy. Shrill rang the phone at that moment. Frightened, Jessica drove together. She kept ringing the bell until the answering machine came on. She heard the neutral announcement until the beep, then a hesitant male voice: "Hello?" A short break. "Hello. He told me to tell you that the door is open." Again a moment's silence followed. "Blimey. I should call this number and pass the message on. The message is from Joe Maxwell. My name is Jacob Chandler." Then he hung up.

Jessica Burton stood frozen in the darkness and closed her eyes for a moment. Unbelief and horror spread through her. Then the fear rose up inside her and tore her out of her rigidity. She no longer wondered who the stranger was. He was just a harbinger. She quickly tied his hands behind his back with tape. In the bedroom, she took the small suitcase out of the closet. The double bottom was not visible from the outside. She got out spare papers and cash. She threw some clothes into the suitcase and put something inconspicuous on. Only with her suitcase in her hand and a handbag over her shoulder she left the apartment that had been her home for a while. She took a cab to the airport and informed Henderson during the trip. He promised to take care of the stranger in her apartment. Jessica ended the conversation briefly without telling Henderson about her next steps. She didn't know if he was being bugged or who else she could trust. She had deleted the message on the answering machine before leaving the apartment, but it had been unequivocally.

Why didn't Joe call himself? The cab stopped. She paid and got out. She had finished her considerations at the counter at the airport. "I have to get to New York as fast as I can."

"I can't offer you a direct flight from here at such short notice," said the friendly employee. "If you don't mind flying over Frankfurt, there's another plane in an hour. I can book it for you and also the onward flight from there to New York."

"Yes, then do that."

"In which name may book?"

"Lancaster. Tina Lancaster."

_**New York; hotel room; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Vincent, a stranger**_

Jake stared questioningly and insecurely at the receiver and the note in his hand. It was a number in Germany. He was angry with himself. That had been very unprofessional. He knew that himself. He didn't have to work for the FBI for that. What did Maxwell say to him. He should carry the message. Nothing else. And he had mentioned his name and Maxwell's. He had not only named them, but had spoken on an answering machine where they had been recorded.

"Shit." He cursed loudly and hung up the phone and then walked up and down in the hotel room. He had taken the room because he wanted to make the call from a neutral location. After Joe Maxwell was taken away, he knew that this call had to be extremely important. He shook his head. It didn't help. He would shower first and then figure out how to proceed. Maybe he should go back into the tunnels and talk to his father. He opened his suitcase to get some of his stuff out. He hung his jacket on a hook next to the door. The note from Rebekka Rose fell into his hand. Jessica Burton's number in Berlin. He had completely forgotten his case in the last few hours. Irritated, he looked at the number and went over to the phone where Joe Maxwell's note was. He held both notes next to each other and froze as if to a pillar of salt.

Jake didn't remember how long he'd been staring at those two slips of paper. At some point he sat down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to grasp a clear thought. He didn't know what to think or feel. Joe Maxwell had tried to warn Jessica Burton. The woman Jake wanted to meet in Berlin about his case. That was for sure, and something else. Jessica Burton made him feel like he knew her. He had sensed her horror at the museum, her fast heartbeat. He tried to concentrate. Did he feel anything now?

Fear. A touch of danger surrounded her. He tried to remember her appearance. She was older, but hard to appreciate. Medium length hair. It had all been very fleeting. And he remembered a face covered by sunglasses at a table outside a restaurant in Berlin. She had been there when he felt that heartbeat right behind him. He sat up resolutely. He would take a shower and then go into the tunnels to his father.

Vincent did something he rarely did. He went upstairs. He felt Jacob. If he wanted to, he could feel what his son thought. He felt Jake's restlessness and found a way to the hotel where he was staying. Luckily it was already dark. First up to the roof and then down the fire escape to the room Jake took. On the roof Vincent saw a darkly dressed figure climbing down the ladder before him. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. He felt that his son was in danger when the stranger stopped outside the window where Jake was. For a moment Vincent saw the gun in the stranger's hand, then he swung himself onto the ladder. He was not as fast as before and had to watch out on the ladder so as not to miss a step. He came down much too slowly, or so it seemed to him. When he finally got to the right floor, he peered through the open window. Inside, Jake fought the stranger and tried to get his gun out of range. With a frightening roar Vincent made his way through the window. The men in close duel froze as it were. Vincent pulled the stranger away from his son and struck the unbelieving looking man with his claw. Lifeless, the figure sank to the ground. Father and son looked down silently at the stranger for a moment.

"Pa." Jake looked at his father with amazement and gratitude. "I'd better not ask what you're doing here."

"Do you know this man?" Vincent asked in a low voice.

Jacob shook his head. "No. I've never seen him before."

"He tried to kill you."

"I guess." Jake nodded grimly. He bent down and examined the stranger. "He's still alive. Maybe we wait until he comes to consciousness and then ask him a few questions." Jake straightened up again. "Pa, why were you around?"

"I wanted to protect you."

"You know I don't want that..."

Vincent interrupted him. "May I remind you that I arrived just in time."

They both kept silent for a moment.

Jake pointed to his half-naked body. "I was in the shower when that guy showed up."

Now Vincent noticed the wet hair and wet upper body of Jake, who was only dressed in trousers.

"I dry myself off quickly. Please take care of our uninvited guest," he asked his father. Jake disappeared for a moment in the bathroom, came back with a towel to dry himself off. Then he took a fresh shirt out of his suitcase, which he put on. "Pa, I would have come to you anyway. I need to talk to you."

"What have you found out by now?"

"It's not just about that," Jacob replied. "It's also about the case, which is why I was in Berlin. I met a woman. Does the name Jessica Burton mean anything to you?"

Vincent shook his head.

"My boss had named me. She is supposed to work for the American Embassy in Berlin and know a lot about works of art. So I tried to meet her, but apparently Mrs. Burton didn't want to meet me." Jake stopped for a moment and looked at his father. "Pa, I could feel her. I mean, the way you feel me. I felt her heart beat."

Surprised Vincent looked at his son, who continued: "She followed me one evening, but it only became clear to me afterwards. The next day I almost met her in a museum, but she seemed to be running away from me."

"Did she look familiar?" Vincent asked.

"No." Jacob shook his head. "You know, she was older, but she disappeared so fast that I couldn't really see her face. And on the first night, she wore big sunglasses."

"Are you sure you felt her and not someone else?"

"Pa. I felt her fear. She didn't want me to discover her." Jake just realized that. "But that's not all," he continued. "I was with Joe Maxwell today."

Vincent suddenly looked at his son alertly.

"He was arrested today under a flimsy pretext. He could just give me a note with a phone number. He asked me to call and warn the woman on the other end of the line. I called there and spoke on the answering machine. It was a German number in Berlin. Meanwhile, I have discovered that it is Jessica Burton's number because a staff member of the museum had given me her number."

"What did you want from Maxwell?" Vincent asked.

"I wanted to know why he did everything he could to prevent the construction of the cemetery."

Father and son looked at each other in silence. The thoughts circled in both.

"It's all connected somehow," Jake said.

At this moment the stranger makes himself felt at her feet with a groan.

_**New York; Jessica Burton, Jenny Aronson, Joe Maxwell**_

Jessica Burton arrived in New York the next day. As she stepped out of the airport building, she breathed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. She was at home. It was the second time since... She shook her head. Her cloudy thoughts were of no use to her. She had not come back out of sentimentality, nor out of the endless longing that she fulfilled. It was serious. Very serious. She would have needed a short break so urgently after the long flight. She felt that she wasn't the youngest anymore. With her small suitcase she got in a taxi and was brought to the city. Even if it was dangerous, she had to go to a friend. She officially entered the high-rise building through the front entrance and took the elevator up to the 21st floor. She was stopped at the reception.

"What do you want?" asked the lady.

"I'm here to see Jenny Aronson."

"Are you registered?"

"No." She reached into her purse and pulled out a small book. "Please give the book to Mrs. Aronson and tell her it's important."

"But Mrs. Aronson cannot be disturbed at this time."

"I wait that long," Jessica replied with a determined expression clearly signaling that she would not move from the spot.

The receptionist disappeared for a few minutes. When she reappeared she took Jessica with her and led her through two long corridors to a somewhat remote meeting room.

"Mrs. Aronson will be right with you," she said, leaving Jessica alone.

She waited. She was still holding the suitcase in her hand, which she pulled on two wheels as she went to the window and looked out. Wistfully, she saw the city of New York lying at her feet. The door opened and, lost in thought, she turned around.

"Hello Jenny," she greeted the entrant.

After talking to Jenny, she left the building through the rear exit. Jenny had reluctantly got her a room, even though she had repeatedly offered to stay overnight with her. But that was far too dangerous. She took another cab and gave the driver the address she had of Jenny. Because of the heavy traffic they made only slow progress. Jessica was tired, very tired. Finally the cab stopped and she got out. She stood in front of a typical house with numerous apartments. But she did not go in, but sat down with her suitcase on a bench a few meters further. It did not take long for an older man in a suit and with snow-white hair to approach her. She stood up and for a moment it seemed as if he wanted to hug her. But too much time had passed since they had last seen each other.

"Hello, Joe," she just said instead.

"Hello," he muttered dazed as if he still couldn't believe she was standing in front of him. He stared at her.

She looked around restlessly: "We should not stop here," she warned.

He just nodded.

"Is there a café somewhere we can sit?" she asked.

He nodded again and started toward the nearest street corner. But he didn't touch her like she was a ghost.

When they were sitting at the small coffee shop across the street, he was still staring at her speechlessly.

"Joe," she warned quietly. "We need to talk. I got your warning. However, it was a little late, because I had already received an uninvited visitor. What happened?"

Finally he came back to reality. "Construction work on the cemetery has been approved. Graves should be moved. I used all the means at my disposal to prevent that. Even not quite legal ones. Yet they got away with it."

She winceed.

"You can guess the rest," he answered her expression of her face. "The press has done the rest. I was taken into custody for a day. Like I said, I've tried everything to stop this. Now I'm suspended, but that's nothing new to me."

She looked at him with dismay. "Everyone will have heard about this through the press," she concluded.

"I didn't think the consequences would come to you so quickly," Joe said.

"I suspect a leak in the embassy in Berlin," she said.

He frowned with concern. "How did you get here?"

"Don't worry," she replied, "I used another name. One nobody knows, not even the people from witness protection. Yet nowhere am I really safe anymore."

He nodded. "I'm afraid it's not just you."

"I know it was a risk coming to New York."

Joe shrugged his shoulders. "I can understand that it doesn't matter to you now."

"Really?" she asked.

He hesitated.

She asked him. "Why didn't you call yourself? I got your message on the answering machine."

"Damn. The police arrested me," Joe tried to justify himself. "There was an FBI agent in my office." Now he was quieter. "I had to act quickly. His name was Chandler." In Joe's eyes, she read the unspoken question.

"Fine. He left your name and his on the answering machine. Whoever tapped my phone at the time knows. Joe, you're definitely in danger."

Joe was not impressed by her words. "I know that a long time ago." He hesitated for a moment. "He came to see me. Jacob Chandler. This morning. He wanted to know things about me that I couldn't and didn't want to tell him. But he knows something. Damn it, tell me who this guy is, Radcliffe."

_**New York; an old warehouse; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Danny, the foreign assailant**_

Annoyed, Jake entered the shed in an old dilapidated warehouse. Danny, a helper who grew up in the tunnels with Jake, had been guarding the prisoner.

"Anything new?" Jake asked.

Danny shook his head. "He remains silent. If you talk to him, he just grins silly."

Irritated, Jake ran his fingers through his hair. The visit to Joe Maxwell had frustrated him. He hadn't found out anything. No answers to his questions. Joe Maxwell may have personal reasons for acting, but it must have been a weighty reason to risk his job for it. Jake forced himself to think practically.

"Could you find anything on his smartphone?"

"I was able to recover some of the deleted data. I also reconstructed the GPS history. He's been to an address in Lower West a few times in the last week. This is a high-rise complex with offices." Danny handed Jake a note with an address.

"Is he awake?" Jake asked and nodded to the adjacent door.

"I think so," Danny said.

Jake opened the door. They had taken some care of the stranger's injuries. He was lucky his father didn't have the strength he had in the past. Jake took a chair and sat across from the man tied to a chair.

"Have you considered cooperating with us in the meantime?"

The stranger looked at him from gloomy eyes and was silent.

"Listen," Jake said, "you can save us a lot of time. Why did you want to kill me? Who sent you."

The stranger just grinned and remained silent.

"Good." Jake got up and turned to leave. "Then we'll wait."

"They'll find you." Those were the stranger's first words. "And me too."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked.

"I didn't do the job. They can't take a joke."

"Who are they?"

Now Jake's prisoner started chatting. "I should turn you off. Now others will come."

"Why do they want to take me out?"

The stranger remained silent for a moment. Then, "I was only supposed to do one job."

"Kill me?"

The stranger nodded. Jake was thinking. If his counterpart was a contract killer, he probably knew nothing about the background. He should have called his office by now, but this matter had a personal background. Nobody in his professional environment knew where he really grew up. He had to keep the secret about the tunnels to keep his father safe. But why should he suddenly be killed? "When did you receive the order?" he asked.

"Not even an hour before I came to see you. It happened very quickly."

Jake didn't have to think long about what had happened at the hotel that hour. He had phoned to Germany. It all came down to this woman. Blimey. And Joe Maxwell wouldn't talk to him. He got up and went out.

"Keep watching him, please," he said to Danny. "I'm going below."

_**New York; in the tunnels and in the warehouse; Vincent, Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

Vincent hadn't really calmed down since the latest developments. Besides worrying about his son, he was more and more concerned with the past, which he would so gladly have left to rest. It hurts. But he felt that deep in his memories there was an answer to recent events. Jake wanted to see Joe Maxwell, but Vincent doubted it would do any good. There was a connection they hadn't realized yet.

"Pa?" Jake entered his chamber.

"Did you find anything out?" Vincent asked.

"Nothing from Joe Maxwell. He's persistently hiding something."

Vincent nodded. Jake continued: "Our guest has started talking. Apparently, he was commissioned to get me out of the way pretty quickly. He said his clients were coming back. Danny was able to get something out of the mobile. Apparently he'd been to the same address more often this past week."

"What are you going to do now?" Vincent asked.

"I'm gonna go to this address and take a look around."

"Where's that?"

When Jake gave him the address, his father froze.

"What's the matter?" Jake asked in surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Danny's pretty good at pulling all kinds of data out of those phones."

Vincent was silent for a moment. Then: "You shouldn't go there alone."

"I know. Even though I always set great store by my independence, I had the hope that you could be around."

Vincent closed his eyes painfully for a moment. "Yes", he said, "I'll be around."

Vincent escorted Jake upstairs. They just wanted to check on Danny and the prisoner. But as they approached the warehouse, they felt something was wrong.

"Danny," Jake shouted out loud, but there was no answer. The room, Danny was in was empty. The door to the second room was open. Jake found the prisoner dead on the floor. Vincent stopped in the doorway and looked around vigilantly. On the dead was a note: 'If you want to see your friend alive again, come to 23rd Street, corner of 10th Avenue at eleven." Jake went pale and handed the note it to his father. "They got Danny."

Vincent nodded. "It's a trap."

"We have no choice if we want to save Danny."

_**New York; at the skyscraper; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Vincent, Attacker, Jessica Burton**_

Jake felt the anxiety and tension within him as he set off. And he felt something else. Something close. This strange heartbeat and thoughts full of anxiety and fear that intensified his own discomfort. She was here. In New York. But why? He took a taxi and got off two blocks before. He had his gun handy and knew where his father would be waiting. Then finally he stood in front of the high-rise. He looked up at the building. Everything was dark. He wasn't sure what to do now. Suddenly he felt someone behind him. A gun pierced his back.

"Nice and slow," he heard a voice behind him. "We're going in the next street together now." The voice had a foreign accent, Jake noticed on the sidelines. The side street turned out to be a dead end that ended in front of a wall.

"Where's my friend?" Jake asked.

"He's fine," whispered the voice in his back.

Suddenly, the loud roar of an animal could be heard nearby. Jake took advantage of his opponent's noticeable surprise, turned around in a flash and knocked the gun out of his hand. He grabbed him by the collar. "Where's Danny?" He couldn't ask more than his opponent collapsed deadly hit from behind by a machine-gun volley. Jake threw himself behind a big dumpster. Again he heard the roar and knew that his father was nearby. He heard the guy with the machine gun coming closer and was looking around the corner of the container. There were three of them. Jake pulled his gun. He was a good shot. He rose briefly, aimed at the first one and shot. Only marginally he noticed the guy collapsing before he took cover again. There followed a machine-gun volley that ricocheted off the container. Jake breathed hectically. Then he heard his father close and peered over the container. Vincent had the guy with the submachine gun in his claws. Jake tries to take aim at the other one without trying to kill him. They needed information badly. However, the other ran back the road, shocked by Vincent's appearance, until he was hit by a shot. Vincent had struck down his opponent, but at the end of the road two armed men stood and fired. As if in slow motion, Jake saw his father was hit by a bullet and sank to the ground.

"Pa!" he yelled out loud. He fired towards the two men and ran to his father. "Pa," he shouted again, pulling Vincent behind the container. He had met one of the men but his magazine was empty. He heard the steps of the other approaching. Vincent moaned and stood up. "Get out of here, Jake. I'll stop him."

"No," Jake shouted. "I won't leave you."

That's when the guy reached her. He pointed his gun at Jake ready to pull the trigger.

"No", Vincent moaned and wanted to throw himself in front of his son when another shot tore the night apart.

Jake and Vincent still saw the surprise in the man's eyes when he sank to the ground dead. A few yards behind him stood a woman with a drawn gun. She slowly lowered her arm and came closer.

"Stop," Jake shouted, "wait. Don't come any closer." His heart was pounding like crazy.

She paused hesitantly for a moment before moving on. Vincent was gasping on the floor. Jake tried to protect him when the stranger stopped in front of them. Jake recognized her. It was her. Jessica Burton. She looked at him briefly before kneeling down to his father with a wistful look. Tenderly, she raised her hand to Vincent's face. He gasped breathlessly: "Catherine!"

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Catherine, Jake, Mouse **_

From a distance, Jake heard police sirens. As if spellbound, he stared at the two persons in front of him. Time stood still. He couldn't really understand what was going on here. When he looked around, he saw the dead men lying in the street. Finally his father got up, still caught in the woman's gaze. He seemed to have forgotten his injury. Suddenly the stranger woke up from her numbness. The police sirens got louder.

"We can't stay here," she said in a husky voice. She was looking at Vincent the whole time. Slowly they straightened up together.

"Lean on me," Jake took the initiative and turned to his father.

"I'm all right," he replied rough. "I can walk."

"Is there an access to the tunnels nearby?" Catherine asked.

"Yes," Jake said and already started moving. Just before the police arrived, they could leave the road and disappear into the darkness. Without a word, the three climbed through the entrance two blocks away into the tunnels. They stopped for a moment when they arrived on the inhabited plain.

"Is it okay," Jake asked his father.

"It's nothing. The shot just grazed me."

Silently they began to move again. Jake felt the anxious nervousness of the woman next to him. He felt her and her thoughts. And as he went on, he became aware of the full extent of his feelings and their meaning.

It was a long way deep under the streets of New York. And the silence spoke its own language. Since it was night, they met no one when they entered the inhabited area. Most of the inhabitants of the tunnels were asleep.

When they arrived in Vincent's chamber, Jake took the floor again: "We must take care of your injury." He reached for his father's coat.

Catherine had stopped at the entrance. She took in the room as if she saw it for the first time and hadn't dreamed of it a thousand times. From this chamber and from the tunnels, knowing never to see all this again.

Vincent wanted to fend off his son. Catherine stepped in and touched his shoulder. "Come, let's dress the wound," she said quietly. Vincent looked at her and gave in after a short hesitation.

"Stay out of there," Jake said harshly at that moment. "I do that."

Frightened by his tone of voice, she paused for a moment, but then took Vincent's coat off without a word. She put him on the couch, which was still in the same place. Jake took a bowl of water and a clean cloth. Catherine saw his erratic movements and interrupted him again: "Let me do this."

"Look, lady, I don't know who you are, but..."

"Jacob", Vincent interrupted him with a rough voice. "You know who she is."

Jake paused in the face of the stated fact. He didn't notice Catherine taking the rag out of his hand and washing out the wound on Vincent's shoulder. He watched her silently. As she leaned over his father, something glittered dangling on a chain around her neck. He looked at her face, which showed visible traces of life, and perceived a pale long scar in her left ear.

"Please help me with the bandage," she addressed him invitingly. And Jake helped her.

When they had finished the bandage, Vincent leaned back in the large chair with the armrests and closed his eyes for a moment. Catherine felt this leaden fatigue rising again. She sat down on another chair and waited. She knew that both men needed time. On the other hand, they didn't have time.

"Jake, please leave us alone." Vincent's voice sounded calm.

Jake stood in front of them looking from one to the other. "No."

Vincent wanted to be more emphatic, but Catherine came before him. "Let him. It concerns him, too."

Now Vincent looked at her as if he saw her only now in this chamber. "You were dead," broke it out of him. "I... I held you in my arms. I carried you..."

She heard the pain in his voice and looked at him silently. He had changed. Thirty years has been a long time.

"I brought you to your apartment and stayed with you."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Coma. I was in a coma. I woke up a week later after the ambulance found out that I was still alive."

"What happened next?"

"Joe organized that I came in a witness protection program."

"You knew our son was abducted by this..." Vincent was missing the words.

"I know," she said calmly. „For Joe, the only way to go against him and others was that I was available as a witness. It was the only way to arrest all the backers after Gabriel's death."

"Fuck," Jake interjected. "The guy kidnapped me when I was a baby. What would you have done if Pa hadn't freed me."

Catherine ignored her son's formal address and looked at him steadfastly. "I trusted your father to find you. And so he did."

"How did you know?" Vincent asked.

"Peter," she answered quietly.

Vincent breathed heavily. "You still had contact with Peter?" He felt deceived.

She nodded. "Until he dies."

They looked at each other and nothing seemed to overcome the wall of time, separation and deception.

"Why are you here now?" Vincent's voice sounded more distant. He withdrew internally.

"My identity is ...", she hesitated briefly and looked at her son with a wry smile, "flown up."

Suspiciously, Jake eyed her. "The identity of Jessica Burton?"

She nodded. "It wasn't smart to call Joe's name on the phone and your own."

"Damn. I should warn you. Joe Maxwell gave me your phone number."

"The cemetery thing is known also to the people I testified against," Catherine said.

Vincent tried to overcome his speechlessness. His life, which had fallen asleep in recent years, now overturned. His heart pounded painfully and loudly.

"I should get back upstairs," Catherine broke the silence.

"And where are you going?" Vincent asked.

"I have a room in a hotel."

"Certainly not in the name of Jessica Burton," Jake advised.

"You're not safe above," Vincent stated.

"I haven't been for years. Many of those once convicted are now at large."

Actually, he would have to offer her to stay, Vincent thought. But he said nothing.

"I have to tell Joe what happened tonight," she went on and took her jacket.

"They still got Danny," Jake said. "We have to do something."

Catherine frowned questioningly.

"Danny is Jacob's friend. They grew up together," Vincent explained.

"He guarded a prisoner who tried to kill me the day before yesterday," Jake added angrily. "Only an hour after I spoke to the damn answering machine in Berlin."

"Joe Maxwell has enough contacts to find something out," Catherine said.

"Maybe Danny's already dead." Jake's voice got loud. "You don't know how things are going here now," he continued in a rage. "You come here and think you can fix everything in a jiffy."

She looked at him and answered in a calm voice. "No, I don't think so."

"You can't do anything," Jake continued. "You don't exist. I'm FBI agent. Leave that to me." He stormed out.

Vincent stared straight ahead. "Why didn't you come back? You could have come to me in the tunnels." The accusation lay unmistakably in his voice.

She sighed deeply. "It wasn't possible." Her voice sounded fragile.

He hit the table hard with his hand. The only expression of emotion he allowed himself. At that moment, a figure in a ragged cape stormed into the room.

"Vincent," said the man with tousled hair. "I heard voices so late..." He stopped and looked at the woman in the room.

"Mouse?" Catherine shouted in surprise. "Is that you?"

"Who the hell are..." the rest died on his lips. He took a step back, startled.

She looked at him wistfully. "It's really me, Mouse."

"Catherine. You... you're alive?"

"Yes, as you can see."

Mouse looked from her to Vincent and back.

"Good. Okay," he said, "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about." He was about to turn away and asked Catherine: "You'll stay, won't you?"

She could only shrug her shoulders helplessly and look over at Vincent.

"Well, see you later," Mouse just said and disappeared.

Pressing silence was spreading in the chamber.

"I...", Catherine began, "I wanted to tell you that... you raised him well."

"I tried," Vincent replied harshly. "He missed his mother." He clenched his hand into a fist.

She looked at him silently at first.

"I'd better be going." She turned away and secretly hoped for a word from him.

He kept silent and turned his gaze away. She left. He didn't hold her back.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

Jake ran aimlessly through the tunnels until he found himself at an exit up. He had to leave. Away from the two people who were his parents. A sudden feeling of guilt overcame him that he had left his father behind, but it wasn't quite like that. This woman ... it was hard for him to see his mother in her. He knew her by the name of Jessica Burton. His mother, who had so far been a grave in a cemetery for him, was not a living person who spoke and had a face. If he could believe her, she was in deep trouble. Difficulties he had experienced first-hand. He should finally involve his colleagues, even if he did not know who he could trust in this matter.

**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine, Mouse**

Catherine had trouble finding her way in the tunnels. She felt that leaden fatigue again. After all these years, it was hard for her to remember the paths. There were so many details she had remembered every day, but some paths changed over time. Luckily, she came across Mouse.

"Mouse," she addressed him from behind. He seemed to be busy with something, and as he turned to her he held a box in his hand with various wires sticking out of it. She took a closer look at him. He had grown older, like her, and no longer seemed like a crazy boy who always had new ideas that could be good or bad. He smiled at her, put the box on the floor and hugged her spontaneously. "Catherine," he just said, "it really is you, isn't it."

She had to smile spontaneously. That was the first hug since... she did not know how long ago it had been.

"Mouse," she said again, "can you take me above? I'm afraid after all this time I can't remember exactly."

"You're just back," Mouse replied in dismay. "You can't go. Where's Vincent?" When he talked, his voice still somersaulted slightly.

"He's in his chambers," Catherine replied calmly. "Please take me above."

"But...", he initially wanted to contradict, visibly dissatisfied."Come on," he said then stomped off. CCatherine followed him to the Central Park exit.

She turned to him. "Thank you, Mouse."

He didn't seem happy about the goodbye. "You must come again. Everyone must know you're alive."

"Mouse," she tried to stop him, "please don't say anything. It's important. Please," she insisted.

"Okay," he said and hugged her one more time. "You're here and you're alive. That's the most important thing."

She went to her hotel. In her jacket pocket was still her gun. Careful she entered her room, but no one was there. It was relatively unlikely that they had found out where she was. Joe knew for sure about the events of tonight. She took off her jacket and shoes. This unending tiredness pulled through her limbs, caused by too little sleep in the last few days. She lay down on the bed and thought she could finally sleep. But when she closed her eyes, she saw Vincent in front of her. He had changed and yet he was the same. For so many years she had only been lived by memory. How often had she imagined what it would be like if she could see him again and talk to him. Her sudden appearance had disturbed him. Of course. That was no wonder. For him she had been dead for almost thirty years and her appearance must have seemed like a fraud. She had done everything to keep the secret around him in the hope that he and her son would then be safe. And she would do it again and again. With this thought she finally fell asleep.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Mouse**_

Vincent wasn't asleep that night. He sat petrified in his chamber. He couldn't think clearly. Nothing could comfort or calm him. He heard Mouse coming before he even entered the room.

"What's the matter? Why did Catherine leave?"

Vincent didn't answer him. How would he explain to Mouse what was going on inside him? That woman was Catherine and yet she was a stranger. And he didn't know if he really wanted that stranger to replace his memories of Catherine. He still said nothing, and Mouse left sometime. He remained alone lost in memories and dreams and impossible hopes.

_**New York; District Attorney's Office; Catherine, Joe Maxwell, Jake (Jacob)**_

Joe's suspension had been lifted, as Catherine learned the next morning through the newspaper. She didn't read anything about a shooting with the dead. Yet she was sure Joe knew about it. Her sleep had hardly brought her any rest. With waking up the memories came back. Vincent felt deceived and betrayed, and she knew she couldn't change it. The past couldn't be turned back. What remained was the pain that gnawed deep in her heart and soul. It had become a good friend over the years.

Catherine decided to go straight to Joe. For security reasons, she didn't own any of these mobile phones. Much had changed in New York. Also the district attorney's office. She asked herself through and when she arrived in the large office with the countless workplaces, Joe already saw her through the wide glass window of his office, in which he phoned standing. He beckoned her to him and she entered the office without paying attention to the curious glances of the people around her. It was unlikely anyone else knew her. She closed the door behind her and waited until Joe had finished his phone call.

He looked at her seriously. "What are you doing here? If anyone recognizes you..."

She waved off. "Does it matter? Tell me, how are the investigations concerning the dead of last night?"

"Have you been there?" Joe looked at her in horror. "When I informed you that the drug mafia had returned to their quarters there, I didn't mean that you should present yourself to them as on a tray. I wanted you to stay well clear of this block."

She smiled crookedly. "I had something to do."

"What do you mean? Damn it, Catherine, I haven't protected you all these years so you'd risk your life lightly."

She smiled painfully. "We all have to die sometime, Joe."

He looked at her irritated. "What's the matter?"

She shook her head and tried to get rid of the feeling of depression. After all, it was nothing new that she had to make difficult decisions on her own.

"I think I'm tired of hide-and-seek."

Joe looked at her seriously and helplessly. He had often wondered how a person could stand it. To live under a different identity, always on guard that no one will find out the truth. Apparently Catherine was now at a point where she couldn't or didn't want to go on like this. And he didn't know how to help her.

"The FBI took over the investigation," he said then very factually. "The New York police are out."

Catherine was afraid. "Let me guess who's in the investigation..."

"You don't have to guess," Joe interrupted her. With a look through the office window he continued, "and by the way he is on his way to us".

Catherine followed his gaze through the window and saw her son come to them purposefully. He was accompanied by two guys in suits who looked as grim as he did. They entered the office and closed the door behind them.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Joe said with a wry look. "I know you've taken over the investigation."

"You seem to have good contacts," Jake said. He didn't show that he was confused by seeing his mother here. What on earth was she doing here? She should behave as inconspicuously as possible and best hide.

One of Jake's colleagues said, "We're just here to see if you have any more information for us."

"You know what police station was on duty last night," Joe replied. "That's all I know."

Jacob turned to his two colleagues. "Please leave me alone with Mr. Maxwell for a moment," he asked.

The other looked suspiciously at Catherine, but then left the room with his partner.

When the door was closed, Jake turned directly to Catherine. "Where did you get the address last night?"

For a moment, Catherine was amazed that he addressed her so directly and personally.

"I gave it to her," Joe took the word.

"What? And where did you get it from?"

"We've known for some time that parts of a drug cartel are there. So far we have nothing against them in our hands."

Jake turned to his mother. "And what were you doing there?"

She shrugged apologetically. "Actually, I just wanted to look around, but then ..." She didn't have to mention the rest. She had heard the shooting and the fight, and she intervened. Just in time.

"Okay." Jake pulled himself together. "Look, Mr. Maxwell, whoever they are, they seem to have a hostage. A friend of mine."

Joe was about to ask, but Jake waved off. "So it would be extremely helpful if you could name me a contact. Because I assume you have someone."

"You overestimate me," Joe said.

"I don't think so."

Catherine was fascinated by her son's determination. Even if she didn't really know him, she admired him proudly at that moment. "Joe, tell him your informant," she interfered.

"What?" Joe looked at her speechlessly. "I can't do that. And besides, you're not supposed to be here. Damn it. You should behave as inconspicuously as possible."

"I can't," she just said, looking her son in the eye.

Jake nodded at her.

"Damn," Joe said again.

"Mr. Maxwell," Jake said, "is about a man's life."

Joe looked from one to the other and then nodded resignedly. He wrote a name and a phone number on a piece of paper and gave it to Jake.

"This is our contact in the organization. If he flies up, we have nothing."

Jacob understood. Catherine looked at the note in his hand and memorized everything. She nodded gratefully to Joe. "Thanks, Joe."

"What are you gonna do now?"

"You told me to go underground."

"That's really gonna be best," Jake said. "I gotta go." He left the office and went to see his colleagues.

Joe looked at her seriously. "You don't just disappear, Radcliffe. I know you."

She smiled tiredly. "It's too late for that anyway."

"Cathy, please..."

She already turned to the door. "Thank you, Joe, thank you for everything."

Unable to stop her, he saw her go out.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Mouse, Pascal, Jamie, Olivia, Jake (Jacob)**_

Vincent hadn't come to rest. Sometime in the early morning he had gone through the tunnels, lost in his thoughts. He remained alone and didn't want to meet anyone. Mind and heart struggled in him and neither the one nor the other part in him could make a decision for himself. Both sides in him seemed lost in the face of the fact that had shown itself to him on the last evening. At some point, the night was over and took its toll. He returned to his chamber and lay down dressed on the couch to fall into a deep sleep immediately. He dreamt about Jacob. He was just a little boy and Vincent grabbed his hand and led him through the tunnels. And only visible to him, Catherine went to the other side of the boy and held his other hand. Then he was at Catherine's grave with Jacob. It had been the first time he had led him there that night. Jacob was maybe nine or ten. They were both standing at her grave. But suddenly Catherine was standing next to Jacob. Then he saw Jacob walking alone through the dark streets of New York. He was grown up and Vincent ran to him to protect him and walked beside him and suddenly Catherine walked at his other side. She protected him too. In her way. But suddenly she turned away and left them both. Vincent woke up in a sweat and breathed heavily. He knew about the power of dreams and their meaning. He straightened up cumbersome. He didn't know what time it was and listened to the beating of the pipes to hear something. He washed himself briefly with some water and wanted to leave the room when Pascal entered. He wasn't alone. Others came with him. Jamie, Olivia and Mouse.

"Is it true what Mouse says?" Pascal asked. "Or is he completely nuts now."

"I told you the truth," Mouse tried to justify himself.

"My God," Jamie took it, "is that really true? Is Catherine alive?"

"Yes," Vincent answered rough.

"Then she was actually here last night," Olivia made sure.

Vincent nodded. "Yes, that too."

"But...", Olivia tried to find words. "How is that possible?"

"Why did she leave again," Pascal checked.

Vincent hung his head in despair. "Because I let her go."

Jamie stepped closer and took his hand. "Just tell us what happened."

He nodded and reported on the events of the past evening. They were dismayed to learn of Danny's disappearance.

"Jacob has now informed his colleagues at the FBI to free Danny," Vincent said.

"And what about Catherine?" Pascal asked. "You say she's in danger up there."

Vincent nodded heavily. "Yes." He thought of his dream and looked up. He saw the people in his chamber. Last night she had been here taking care of his injury. And in his memory, he saw something flashing in his eye. The necklace with the crystal he had given her. She was wearing them last night. "I have to find her." Finally he felt a new force shoot through his body. He looked from one to the other.

"Yes," Mouse said, "otherwise Catherine will die a second time."

Vincent didn't hesitate any longer and took his cape. He didn't know what hotel she was in and under what name, but he knew where Jacob was. He sent one of the kids to Jake with a message. He waited a long time in the Central Park tunnel until Jacob finally showed up.

"What's the matter? Why'd you send for me?" Jake asked.

"Do you know where your mother is?" Vincent asked directly and excitedly.

Jake was irritated. "I saw her at Joe Maxwell today. Why?"

"Do you know where I can find her? The hotel?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I have to find her." He grabbed Jacob by the shoulders. "I let her go last night. I have to find her and tell her..." He hesitated.

"I've taken care to free Danny. Joe Maxwell named me a contact in the organization and..." Jake paused, realizing that he knew well where his mother was. "Pa, she was the woman in Berlin I felt."

Astonished, Vincent looked at him.

"The art expert I told you about," explained Jake, "who avoided me and didn't want to meet me."

It took Vincent a moment to grasp the dimension of what had been said. "You can feel her?" He knew that his son had inherited some of his feelings and gifts from him. This included this extraordinary perceptive faculty. Should he really have the gift of feeling his mother as he himself once could?

"Jacob, you must lead me to her. I need your help," he asked.

Jake squirmed. "I can't. Tonight we meet the contact man. I..."

"Jacob," Vincent interrupted him aloud. "I must find her. She's in danger."

"I don't even know how to do this," Jake said desperately. "I just always saw it that way."

"You have to concentrate," Vincent pressed him. Then he continued more calmly. "Feel inside you. If it really is so, then you feel it."

For a moment, father and son looked at each other helplessly. Then Jacob closed his eyes and concentrated.

_**New York; Catherine**_

Catherine had made progress in her attempt to help. Of course, what she had in mind was daring. She didn't know if she got away again. She knew Joe was suspicious she was doing something on her own. And how right he was. Last night, the reunion with Vincent. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn't come to New York, but it was too late now. Just as it seemed too late for many things. She shouldn't have opened any old wounds. One thing had become clear to her. Catherine Chandler had died thirty years ago, no matter what happened now. She put the revolver in her jacket and set off for the high-rise building where she had already died once.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Jake (Jacob)**_

Vincent looked intently at Jacob and waited. He would have loved to shake him up to get something out of him. Panic filled his heart. He had made a terrible mistake because he had not wanted to know the truth. And the truth was that Catherine had protected Jacob. Her faked death, her funeral and her plunge into a life unknown to him had been for Jacob's protection. And his. He knew very well. There was only one reason why she had done that, and that reason made his heart beat to burst. He just couldn't be late. Not this time.

He lost his patience. "Tell me what she thinks," he urged his son.

Jacob opened his eyes and seemed confused. He found it irritating to listen to another person's feelings and thoughts. Irritating and frightening. For he heard her thoughts and suddenly knew what she intended.

"Where is she?" Vincent asked.

"We should hurry," he suddenly told his father.

"Why? What do you feel?"

"She wants to trade herself for Danny. She's at the high-rise where she died..." Jacob couldn't finish. He saw his father, who despite his age was hurrying to disappear into the tunnels. He knew it was useless to want to follow him. He had to go another way.

_**New York; skyscraper; Catherine**_

Catherine knew she took a chance when she entered the building. It was dark. She had waited until normal office hours were over. She knew where she was expected through Joe's contact. In fact, the door to the reception room was open. She entered the thick carpet, which swallowed every sound. No one was sitting at the reception. So she carefully turned down the hall. The rear door was also open and she approached it purposefully. As she entered the room, she was expected by two men in dark blue suits. She closed the door behind her.

"Gentlemen," she began, "I have a suggestion."

_**New York; skyscraper; Vincent, Catherine, Danny, Jake**_

Vincent found his way into the building, past surveillance cameras. From the outside, through one of the windows, he wouldn't stand a chance. Instinctively, he found a way and entered the offices through the front door. He heard voices from a room and knew he was right.

"Are you finally tired of hiding?" said a deep voice.

"Who said I was hiding?" That was Catherine.

Vincent's heart pounded. He felt her nervousness.

"Let the young man go," she demanded determined. "I'm here."

Vincent heard another door open. Then another voice. "You may go." Silence.

Then the door to the hallway opened and Danny stepped out of the room. Confused, he looked around and was startled when he saw Vincent. Vincent held his index finger to his lips as a sign that Danny should say nothing. Vincent meant for him to leave.

"Do you think I'll make it that easy for you?" he heard Catherine's voice.

That's when Vincent stormed into the room. The two men were visibly surprised. An older man with sparse hair was sitting behind a desk. Next to him stood a younger man, smirking smugly and nodding in the semi-shade of the door to a third. Vincent knocked the gun out of his hand and threw him over his shoulder. Catherine pulled out her own weapon, but the younger of the men was also armed, as she found out. She couldn't tell where he got a gun so fast. As the man shot at Catherine, Vincent roared terribly and threw herself down with her. He quickly got up again and threw himself on the two men. Another shot fell, but luckily it went wrong. A few strokes were enough and the younger one lay on the floor unarmed and bleeding. The older one had got up and retreated frightened by Vincent's appearance. Vincent approached him threateningly and roaring and raised his claw to the blow.

"Vincent." That was Catherine and he stopped.

The man ducked down anxiously crouching on the wall. Vincent looked at Catherine. She looked at him painfully. Memories mixed with long suppressed feelings, and words never said, filled the room with an eloquent calm. For a moment, Vincent was torn between when Jacob storm into the room. Jake looked from the people lying on the ground to his father and to his mother, who looked at each other unblinking. Vincent let go of the man on the ground. With heavy steps he approached Catherine and after a short hesitation he took her into his arms. He breathed heavily. "I won't let you go again."

Jacob took care of the men and everything else. He informed his colleagues and considered a story of how he had freed his friend Danny on his own. The men's arrest was probably just a drop in the ocean. The criminal organization behind it was much more complex and larger and had survived for decades. It would go further.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Catherine**_

Vincent and Catherine had disappeared into the tunnels. She followed him to his chamber. They needed to talk.

"Catherine," he began, "I..." He hesitated as if he didn't know what to do. "I meant what I said. I'm not letting you go again."

She swallowed. "I've changed, Vincent. I'm not the Catherine you know anymore."

"You are the woman I love and have always loved."

She raised her hand. "So much time has passed. I can understand if you feel deceived."

"It hurts," he admitted. "Believing you were dead made me wish I was dead myself. I've lived all these years just for Jacob."

"I'm so sorry," Catherine said. "More than once I wanted to come to you, but my fear was too great to endanger you and our child."

"Oh Catherine", Vincent took her hand to his lips and kissed her.

"What are we going to do?"

"Whatever we do now, we do it together," Vincent said. "You have to promise me that. You're safe here with friends. You're not alone anymore. Never again."

Catherine's eyes filled with tears. "But..."

"No," Vincent replied firmly. "From now on, we decide together what to do. Fate has brought you back to me and I will hold that miracle. Nothing will change my mind."

She smiled at him in tears and felt safe in his embrace.

53


	2. Chapter 2: Knowledge and ignorance

**Knowledge and ignorance**

_**Before I was afflicted I went astray;**_

_**But now I observe thy word.**_

_**(Psalm 119:67)**_

_**New York, Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Gerry Fisher**_

Jake held the telephone receiver away from his ear. He was afraid he might get a hearing loss.

"Damn it, Chandler. What were you thinking? You stabbed a wasp nest. You were supposed to be in Germany and investigate the art forgery. Instead, you deliver a shootout in New York with organized crime." Gerry Fisher was furious

Jacob's boss had heard about the activities of the last few days. Originally Jake had told him family problems for his sudden departure from Berlin. Now there were a few dead people in New York, and Jake couldn't tell him the real reason.

"Gerry, I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything. I had contacted you in between when it got complicated, and the two people you sent me were helping with the clarification."

"You're on the verge of being suspended from duty."

Jake held his breath and counted to ten. "Please don't do that, Gerry."

"Then finally tell me the real reason for the whole mess."

Jacob was silent. He couldn't explain to his boss that his mother, who had been believed dead, had turned up after living under a false identity for thirty years in the Witness Protection Program.

"Gerry, I am sorry. I can't tell you anything about it. Please give me time."

"Then you're out now, Chandler. Murray and Hancock will take care of the investigation."

"But..."

"And as for this art forgery case, I'll think of something else."

"Gerry, please. You're completely overreacting. I need time."

"So that you can come up with a pretty story? No," his boss replied. "Either you help us and help to clarify the matter with the truth or you are out." Gerry Fisher hung up on that.

"Fuck!" Jake would have loved to throw his mobile phone against the wall. That's what he got out of it.

_**New York; the tunnels, Vincent and Catherine**_

Vincent felt the restlessness of his son. He had problems with last night's thing. They had to help him as best they could. He and Catherine. The thought still felt strange. She was alive. She slept in his chamber. She had been asleep for a very long time, as if she had to catch up on the sleep of several years. He looked at her. Maybe it was really like that. Maybe in all those years it had been the same for her as it had been for him. Alone. Lost. No, he thought to himself. It must have been worse for her. Alone in strange places with a secret she couldn't confide to anyone. He had had Jacob, his friends and his home in the tunnels. She moved in her sleep. They had to talk to each other about what to do now.

Catherine woke up with difficulty. As if from afar, she perceived the sounds. The knocking on pipes, the rattling of a subway. She thought she was in a dream. A dream that conjured up better times. A dream in which her world was still in order. But at some point she opened her eyes. The dream did not disappear. Irritated, she sat up and found herself in Vincent's chamber. She was alone and the memories of the last hours and days came back. She was in New York in the tunnels and with Vincent. It felt strange and familiar at the same time.

At that moment he appeared in the room. Big and present as before.

"You are awake," he noted with his rough voice.

"Yes." She felt embarrassed. So many years she had longed to be with him again, and now she didn't know what to say. "How long did I sleep?" she asked.

"Almost the whole day."

"What!" Horrified she rose from the couch.

"You seemed to need it," Vincent said gently. He stopped undecidedly. Shy. They both didn't know how to deal with each other. "There is a bowl of water. You can wash yourself and ..." He paused.

"What and?" asked Catherine.

"The others want to see you. Jamie and Olivia were here for a moment. Also Pascal and Mouse. They're all dying to see you again."

"Olivia and Jamie." Her voice sounded thoughtful. "They all still live down here?"

Vincent nodded.

"And Mouse. And Pascal with his pipes." Now she smiled for the first time since he had found her again.

"I hope this isn't too much for you?" Vincent asked.

"No, no," she fended off immediately. "I would also like to see them again.

Vincent nodded cautiously, but also contentedly. "I leave you alone for a moment." With that he left the chamber, and Catherine watched him thoughtfully.

Later she met everyone. The old friends she knew and new residents of the tunnels who had joined in the past years. There were some warm embraces, but also a certain shyness and reservation towards her. Catherine felt it and could understand it. She wasn't really one of them. Did she ever? Did Vincent feel it too? After the joy of the reunion, there was not much to say, and soon the tunnel dwellers went about their usual business. Vincent and Catherine went back to his chamber.

"We have to talk," he said quietly to her.

She nodded and waited.

"How should it go on now?"

"Maybe I should go upstairs and get my things from the hotel where I was staying."

"Jacob is in trouble."

She frowned anxiously. "To what extent?"

"He has trouble with his boss."

Now she was irritated. "How do you know?"

Vincent shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed. He looked for words. At first Catherine didn't understand what he was getting at. Finally he gave himself a jolt, for it was no use restraining the explanations. They had always been honest with each other. "I feel it, Catherine."

"You feel..." She paused in horror when she became aware of the meaning. "Just like with me at that time?"

He nodded slowly. "It started already when he had been kidnapped as a baby. It was his heartbeat at his birth that had led me to this skyscraper and to you."

Tormented, she closed her eyes at his words. She did not want to be reminded of those dark hours in which she had lost everything that meant something to her.

"Afterwards it intensified more and more, so that I have the same bond to him as to you before."

She nodded and accepted this fact. "Does he..." she continued, "does he have this ability as well?"

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "Yes." He took a short break. "That's how we found you yesterday."

"You mean he can feel me?" she asked incredulously. "Since when?"

"For a long time. It started when he was a teenager. He had this feeling of feeling someone. We couldn't explain it to ourselves. I thought he would meet a woman at some point and it would be like us." He paused and shook his head with a smile. "No one could have guessed."

"But then he must have felt me in Berlin. I followed him when he had asked for me."

"He told me about it," Vincent replied.

It took her a moment to process all this news. "What trouble is he in now?"

"He's in trouble because he didn't pursue his case in Berlin. Shortly before he had been here and had noticed that there was trouble because of the cemetery. Then he came back prematurely from Berlin because of me. And now he has to explain this thing with the dead and the drug cartel."

She nodded and thought for a moment. "I have to go above and talk to Joe. He can put things right?"

"What do you want to tell him?"

"He knows I flew up."

"Does he also know who Jacob is?"

"Yes." She hesitated briefly. "I had to tell him, because he had become suspicious by Jake's appearance," she justified herself further. "Don't worry, he doesn't know anything about you and your world down here."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "There's a lot we don't know about each other."

"Maybe we can catch up?" she asked carefully.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. We should do that."

It was still unusual for both of them to be so close to each other. It felt strange and unfamiliar.

"I don't want to let you go upstairs. Here you are safe."

"If I can help our son, then I must do it."

Vincent nodded, but he didn't like it. He felt inside himself. Love was there and would always remain, but the fear of losing her again was greater than ever.

She gently touched him on the shoulder. "I promise you that I will come back."

"I don't know if I could endure losing you again," Vincent said.

"I couldn't endure it either," Catherine replied.

He took her to the exit near her hotel. They looked at each other wordlessly. Shy and awkward, they moved towards each other and embraced each other. Where did this shyness come from? Both felt that they needed time.

"I'll be back soon," Catherine promised.

Vincent just nodded silently and watched her until she disappeared.

_**New York; office of Joe Maxwell; Catherine and Joe Maxwell**_

Catherine fetched her things from the hotel and took a cab to Joe Maxwell's office.

"Do you want to travel?" he greeted her.

"Something like that," she replied, because somehow she would have to explain her disappearance again when she went into the tunnels.

"I wanted to ask you if there was anything you could do for my son," she came straight to the point.

"He's with the FBI," Joe said. "There's nothing I can do."

"You certainly know some people. It wasn't his fault what happened."

Joe looked at her seriously. "That brings me to another problem, Radcliffe."

"What problem?"

"Through the cemetery thing, there's a rumor in the press that Catherine Chandler didn't die 30 years ago."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And we both know that it's not just a rumor."

"For the journalists, it would be a godsend, if the background of the time would be known. The whole story of the corrupt district attorney Moreno and the drug mafia would boil up again."

Catherine sat down on the chair in front of Joe's desk. Joe watched her suspiciously. She seemed too calm. "That doesn't seem to make you nervous at all?"

She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "I think about how I can help my son."

"Where on earth did he come from?" Joe asked. "I mean, back when we put you into the Witness Protection Program, I knew something was wrong, but..."

"Joe," she interrupted him, "that's personal."

"But where has he been all these years? At least not with you."

"He was with his father," she replied seriously and looked Joe in the eye.

He realized that he shouldn't ask any more questions.

"Why don't we give the journalists what they want?" she suddenly asked provocatively.

He looked at her speechless for a moment, hoping to have misunderstood her. "Excuse me?"

"Catherine Chandler appears again. That would explain the shooting, and Jacob could openly admit why he was involved in it."

"You're not serious," Joe said.

Of course, it wasn't what Catherine had in mind for the near future. She wanted to go to Vincent and stay with him. On the other hand, she could help Jacob and maybe fix things after all.

"Do you know what that will cause a stir in the public when you suddenly turn up alive? Not to mention what the mayor thinks when the people hear about new drug mafia activities."

"Joe," Catherine replied. "I've already been exposed and the backers will know by now that I'm still alive." She hesitated shortly before continuing. "Perhaps the public is the best protection I can have."

Joe couldn't answer anything against that.

She realized that somehow she had to tell Vincent. She couldn't go into the tunnels right away. It would take some time for the hype to subside and for her to be free to go where she wanted.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine and Vincent**_

Catherine was surprised how calmly Vincent took up her plan.

"So you want to rise again as Catherine Chandler."

"Something like that."

He nodded quietly. "Jake isn't pressed any further for missing statements and can go back to his work."

"That means, of course," she continued, "that I can't get to you into the tunnels right away."

He nodded thoughtfully. "What about the men who threaten you?"

„The more the public knows about me and the backgrounds of that time, the less likely is it that they are lay hands on me. Normally these cartels prefer to work completely unobserved. Should anything happen to me after everything has become known, everyone would immediately take them into their sights. These people certainly have no interest in that."

"Nevertheless, there remains a risk for you," Vincent said.

She shrugged her shoulders. "There's always a risk."

He looked at her seriously and then nodded. "Good. I see that this is the best way we can help him."

Irritated, she looked at him for a moment. He had given in quickly. Didn't he care that she couldn't come to him right now? She asked him.

Vincent just smiled unfathomably. "Catherine, it's nothing we don't know, isn't it?"

"I will have to look for an apartment," she said.

"Yes. We'll find a way to be together," he said confidently.

Wordlessly they looked at each other. Catherine felt the same helpless feeling she had at the beginning of their relationship when both realized how impossible her love and hopes were. Again it seemed as if fate was against them and set everything in motion to prevent them from being together. Vincent breathed deeply.

"I don't want to be without you anymore," she said in a suffocated voice.

"Catherine..." he paused as if he didn't know any further.

"I'll find a way," she said resolutely. "Maybe it's good when the truth comes to light. It will help Jacob and at some point peace will return."

He nodded and was afraid at the same time.

_**New York; hotel room; Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

Jake had tried to call a friend at the FBI in Washington. Unfortunately he hadn't reached him. He was still sleeping in the hotel in New York. Nevertheless, he considered flying to Washington to clarify the matter with his superiors on the spot. They could not possibly sustain his suspension after checking the details. Gerry had certainly reacted so violently because Jake hadn't told him anything. Of course, he could just wait until the investigation was complete. But the inactivity did not suit him. He had a case to deal with in Germany. Instinctively he had resisted the urge to go into the tunnels and visit his parents. Since his father noticed his feelings, he knew anyway. It also felt strange that his mother was there. It felt strange at all to have a mother. He walked up and down his hotel room and considered possible steps for his rehabilitation. He was reluctant to take a step towards the woman who was his mother. He was afraid to get to know her better. She had deceived him, and what was worse, she had deceived his father. All these years of grief. And she had been very lively all the time. Jake argued himself into a kind of self-righteous rage. No, it was long too late to appear as a loving mother. Much too late. It knocked at the door.

"Who is there," he called out.

"It's me, Danny." His childhood friend stood in front of the door and smiled at him crookedly. "Hi."

Jake let him enter. "What brings you here?" He sounded discontented, he knew that himself.

"I have a message for you. From your father."

"Really?" Jacob asked and looked for a note in Danny's hand.

"He didn't write it down," Danny replied. "All I have to do is tell you to get to him in the tunnels as soon as possible."

Annoyed, Jake made a face and raised his hands. "I really don't have time for this now. I have to see that I get my job back. Tell him I'll get back to him later when I've sorted everything out."

"Your father says that's what it's all about. About your job and about... So he would have come himself, but it's only noon, and he said it can't wait until it's dark and he can come to you."

Jake snorted annoyed. He did not want that. He didn't want to go to his father and not to his mother.

"Come on, give yourself a jolt," Danny tried to persuade him.

Jake shook his head stubbornly. "No. I can't always jump when he calls me. I have to settle my affairs here first. Tell him I'll come as soon as I have time." Demonstratively he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Jake," Danny tried again, reassuringly, but he noticed that it was of no use. "Well, you know now anyway." He left the room.

Jake got angry. Somewhere he had to go with his anger. He took his jacket and left the hotel. The streets of New York were the usual hustle and bustle. The streets and this city were familiar to him, even though he had spent most of his life under this city. It was somehow his home.

Spontaneously he went to a café and read the newspaper. Not a word about the criminal activities he had been involved in. His mobile phone rang audibly and he hoped it was someone from Washington who could finally help him. It was actually someone from Washington. His boss.

"Chandler, are you all right?"

Jake reacted reservedly. Carefully, he replied: "Under the circumstances, I can't answer that with a yes. You can certainly understand that."

"I have good news for you," Gerry reported. "Your suspension will be lifted shortly."

Surprised, Jake thought he had misheard himself. "Are you sure?"

"It's only a matter of time now. No one knew you were Catherine Chandler's son."

Jacob almost choked on the sip of coffee he had just drunk.

"You could have told me who your mother was."

Jake didn't know what to answer.

"Jake, are you still there?"

"Yes." Jacob swallowed again. "How do you know that?"

"What? Oh, there's a public press release from the city of New York. After the press got wind that there was something wrong with Catherine Chandler's grave. But, of course, you have to give a detailed report on what happened in the shooting and the liberation of your friend."

"But", Jake replied, who was ultimately in the same dilemma as before. He could not reveal the whole truth because of his father.

"And among us," Gerry confided to him straight away, "I would have acted just like you. If the lives of someone in my family were in danger, I wouldn't act differently and do everything I can..."

Jake had heard enough. "Gerry, I have to hang up," he interrupted his boss. "You get your report. Sooner or later." He said goodbye and hung up. He put a few dollar bills on the table and left the place in a hurry.

_**New York; press conference; Catherine Chandler, Joe Maxwell, Steve Sinclair, journalists**_

Catherine had guessed and feared what was coming. She sat between Joe Maxwell and the New York police chief, who read a statement in front of the press.

"Thirty years ago, Miss Chandler selflessly contributed to the arrest and conviction of several criminals and members of a drug cartel. She has since been in a witness protection program. Unfortunately, her present identity was uncovered by unclear circumstances, so that..."

She listened to Steve Sinclair's monotonous monologue and watched the journalists and photographers listening with excitement and amazement. Of course they wanted photos of her. From tomorrow everyone knew. Now there was no turning back.

"Please understand that we cannot inform you more about the ongoing investigations." Steve finished his lecture.

"Miss Chandler, where have you been for the last 30 years?"

"Mrs. Chandler, are you in danger of death?"

"Miss Chandler, have you continued to contact..."

"What happened to you going public now?"

"Was the empty grave the trigger, Miss Chandler?"

Steve Sinclair, Joe Maxwell and Catherine rose together from their chairs, Catherine raised her hands defensively and waited until the hectic babble of journalists' voices had subsided. She cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, I beg your indulgence. I did then what was best for our country and our city. Investigations are ongoing into my revealed identity. Please let us see what comes of it. I would be very grateful if you would otherwise respect my privacy." She thus turned to the side exit of the large conference room. Excited voices followed her. Flashes from cameras lit up. She knew that her request regarding her private life would go unheard by many reporters. But that was exactly how it was calculated. She probably wouldn't be able to take a step without photographers and journalists for the next weeks and months. When she had left the hall, she breathed deeply.

Joe put his hand on her back soothingly. He asked, "Everything all right?"

She nodded and turned to the police chief. "Thank you very much, Steve."

He nodded back. "Not for that. All I had to do was read the message. For everything else the FBI can now serve, including organizing adequate personal protection for you."

Joe led them to the back exit. "So where are you going now?"

"I'd like to find an apartment."

He rocked his head thoughtfully. "The FBI will want to have a say. You'll have to get used to the fact that in the near future you won't be able to decide for yourself where you'll be."

"The intention of this press conference was that I didn't have to be protected every step of the way because there would be a lot of reporters outside my door around the clock. No matter who wants to kill me, he has to put on a camouflage cap that makes him invisible". She looked at him resolutely. "So now just drive me to a real estate agent."

Joe sighed resignedly and gave in.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jake (Jacob) and Vincent**_

"How could you let that happen? That is completely crazy!" Upset, Jacob ran up and down in front of his father. They were in the tunnels. The subway clattered close by, but both didn't notice.

"She wants to help you", Vincent said calmly.

"Help? That is complete nonsense. She only puts herself further into danger." He walked vigorously to the tunnel wall and suddenly turned back to his father. "Her wish to stay with you can't be that great. When she takes the first opportunity to live further above."

"Jacob!" Vincent's voice took on a threatening undertone.

"What?" asked his son back. "That would have all cleared up with my job. Somehow I would have come out of it again."

"Jacob", Vincent repeated. "Please. She did it because I told her that you were in trouble. We decided it was a way to help you."

Jake listened. "You have decided." He snorted indignantly. "Do I now have two parents, so to speak, who want to patronize me? Pa, I'm thirty years old." Jake noticed himself that he behaved like a defiant boy.

"It's uncomfortable for you to accept help," Vincent said.

Jake was driving through his hair. "Pa, I've been living completely independently for a few years now. I'm used to dealing with my problems alone."

Lost in thought Vincent looked down. "I know," he just said, "you wanted to prove to me that you could stand on your own two feet."

For a moment silence spread.

"I also wanted to prove it to myself," Jake replied. "And I don't know her."

"She is your mother." Now Vincent looked directly at his son.

He made a face. "I don't know her," he repeated. "Pa, why is she doing that?"

Vincent was silent. How could he explain to his son that a mother would do anything for her child? It was clear to him because he knew Catherine. He probably knew her better than she knew herself. And even if she had said that she had changed, he knew that some qualities of people never changed. He could not tell his son that he was loved by his mother. He had to come to that himself in the course of time. That brought him to the real reason why he wanted to talk to his son.

"Jacob, you have to do something for me," he changed the subject, but in principle it was about the same thing.

"What should I do for you?"

Vincent looked his son in the eye seriously. "You have to protect her."

"What?"

"You have to protect her for me," Vincent said. "She thinks she's safe when the public knows everything and the press is near her. But she is still in danger. There are still people who want to kill her."

"But..." Jake tried to object.

"You can feel her," Vincent continued. "You can feel when she is in danger. The way I could then."

"You want me ... to stay with her?" Jake asked stunned. "But I have a job."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "I know. But I'm asking you to. This one time I'm asking you for something. Protect your mother."

Jacob looked speechless at his father.

_**New York; Catherine Chandler and Jenny Aronson**_

Getting an apartment in New York wasn't that easy. The real estate agent didn't give Catherine any hope that she would find anything in Manhattan in a very short time. Despite her not unsightly fortune. Her father's legacy had remained virtually untouched. For the last thirty years, her life had been about living as unrecognized and inconspicuously as possible. There was no possibility to afford any luxury. Nevertheless, she now absolutely wanted an apartment in Manhattan, whatever the cost. After so many years of absence, she wanted to immerse herself in this city and be at home. She wanted to be near Vincent. To be as close to him as possible in this extraordinary situation.

She telephoned Jenny. "Hello Jenny. It's me."

"Cathy, you're fine. I've seen the news."

"Yes, Jenny. Everything is fine with me so far. I think it was the right step to go public with it." She concealed the real reason.

"I mean, now that everyone knows, does that mean you're Catherine again?" answered her friend.

"Yes," Catherine replied, noticing the relief that came from her words. "I am now Catherine Chandler again." She was finally herself again. No more hide-and-seek. No strange name. She just wanted to be herself.

"And what are you doing now?" Jenny asked.

"I'm looking for an apartment."

"Well, that should be exciting with the current real estate prices."

"I've already been to a real estate agent. He didn't give me much hope." Catherine told Jenny about her upcoming problems, as she had done before. "Right now, I'm sitting in a hotel room with two FBI agents outside the door looking gloomy and some journalists in the hotel lobby who really want to interview me."

"Oh dear." Jenny took a short break. "I could let my contacts play," she said. "I mean, maybe one of my business partners can do something."

Catherine knew that her friend had a large circle of acquaintances. The thought was not at all absurd to be successful on this path. "If you don't mind asking around," she said.

"Oh no. One or the other still owes me a favor."

It must have been a bigger favor, Catherine thought to herself. She walked slowly through the apartment on the 18th floor. Everything she needed was there, including the furniture and a balcony.

"How do you like it" Jenny asked.

"It's..." The words were missing.

"Great, isn't it," Jenny finished the sentence.

The two FBI agents had come along and inspected every little thing. At some point it stops, Catherine said to herself in silence.

"She stands empty. You can move in almost immediately. Actually, my friend wanted to live here when he was in town on business, but he found that he preferred to go back to New Jersey and keep his stays in New York as short as possible." She shrugged her shoulders without understanding.

Catherine turned to her. "I take it."

"We still have to clarify everything for your safety," one of the agents interfered.

Catherine pulled her eyebrows up questioningly. "Then do it."

"Tomorrow, by the way, two new agents will be arriving, who will only be assigned for your personal protection and will have to look after you around the clock," the agent continued unaffected.

"Around the clock?" asked Catherine. "Even at night?"

"Especially at night."

"How is that supposed to work if I sleep here?"

The agent pointed to the gallery to which a staircase led. "There's a niche up there where an extra bed can fit in."

"Absolutely not," Catherine contradicted vigorously.

"You can clarify that with my superiors, or with the colleagues who are coming tomorrow." The agent was not intimidated.

Annoyed, Catherine turned away. She had just missed having a watcher in the apartment.

_**New York; Catherine, Jake and Victoria Thompson**_

Catherine would have preferred to move in immediately and free herself from the shadowing of the FBI agents and the journalists who longed for news. But she had to realize that it was better this way. For now. She longed for Vincent. He was so close now, and yet again they couldn't be together. She hadn't heard from her son since the meeting in Joe's office. She had agreed with Vincent to send him a message as soon as she knew where she would stay permanently. Now all she had to do was getting rid of the FBI agents' surveillance, at least temporarily. Fortunately, the FBI agreed to her moving into Jenny's friend's apartment. So the next day she was able to move out of the hotel room. She longed for independence and her own four walls. She had quickly packed her suitcase. She absolutely had to get some new things. There was a knock at the door. Probably the new FBI staff to pick her up and take her to her apartment.

She opened the door with a swing and wanted to greet the people with a friendly "Good Morning", but that died on her lips.

"Hello, good morning Mrs. Chandler," Jacob greeted her formally. He walked past her and towards her suitcase. Catherine watched him speechless.

"Mrs. Chandler!" A brunette spoke to her in a dark voice. "I am FBI agent Victoria Thompson. This is my colleague, Jacob Chandler, but you know that. We are now in charge of your safety and are to bring you to your apartment this morning."

Dumbfounded, Catherine looked at her and tried to process what she had said. "But..." she tried to bring out a word.

Meanwhile, Jake took the suitcase. "Is that all?" He looked at her questioningly. But he didn't look at her directly, rather past her in a clearly displayed lack of interest.

"How did you get into this?" It finally broke out of Catherine.

FBI agent Thompson sensed that a discussion was underway. "Should I leave you two alone for a moment?" She left the room.

"What is this?" Catherine asked her son, who deliberately ignored her.

Strangely enough, she was afraid to address him by his name. Just as she was generally timid towards him. His rejection did not help to remedy the situation. She looked at him or at least tried.

He took her suitcase. "Then can we go?"

He wanted to walk past her. She held him by the arm. He wanted to tear himself free, but a look into her face made him pause.

"Jacob," she said gently.

Silence. They looked at each other.

"Most call me Jake. "

"Would you like me to call you that too?

He shrugged his shoulders. "Pa calls me Jacob."

She nodded. "Why are you here," she asked gently.

Jake put the suitcase down again. "I don't really want to," he said openly and accepted to hurt her.

"I can imagine," Catherine replied sympathetically.

"It's because of Pa."

She nodded understandingly. "He asked you for it, didn't he?"

"Yes." She heard the resignation in his answer.

She thought for a moment. "I'll talk to him."

"And how are you going to do that? You will now be watched at every turn."

"By helping me," she said firmly. "I did this so that you would not have any more difficulties. Not so that you could get new ones through me."

Jake looked at her in amazement for a moment. "Pa won't like that."

"I know, but the last thing I want is for you to suffer under the situation."

"I'm not suffering," he replied harshly. "Come on now. Let's just go through with it as long as it lasts." With that he turned away from her.

"Can you still give him a message from me?" she shouted after him. "I would like to see him."

"That's far too dangerous," Jake said.

"No more dangerous than anything else we've been through together."

He hesitated.

"Please."

He nodded and opened the door to go out.

_**New York; Catherine, Jake, Victoria Thompson and Tyler Biggs **_

It should be only a short way to her new apartment. Catherine was sitting in the back of the car, her son in the passenger seat, while agent Thompson was driving. They remained silent. Even when they got into the usual New York traffic jam. They hardly made any progress. Engine noise and horns. Catherine enjoyed these noises. She was at home. After so many years.

Suddenly she watched a boy snake through the standing and honking cars in front of them. Two men on his heels.

"What's going on?" asked Catherine.

"I don't know," FBI agent Thompson replied.

They watched the boy come almost to the other side of the street before the two men caught him. One pushed him roughly onto the curb so that it fell lengthways.

"There's something wrong," Catherine said.

"Maybe," Jake said.

Catherine registered only briefly that her son wanted to leave it at that. She spontaneously opened the door at her side and got out.

"Hey," Jake called after her. "What are you doing?"

Determinedly she walked towards the scene. The two men had grabbed the boy from both sides and dragged him away.

"What are you doing," she shouted after the men, attracting the desired attention.

"Shit," Jake cursed and got out himself to rush after his mother.

"Stay out of this," one of the men said to Catherine harshly.

"What are you doing with the boy?" she asked unswervingly.

"We take him home with us." The guy grinned grimly at her. Probably he thought that there was no danger from her.

"Apparently, the boy didn't want that." She became energetic.

"Please help me," the boy shouted fearfully and wriggled in the other man's firm grip.

The greasy guy coarsely grabbed Catherine by the arm. "Get out of here," he hissed, already looking at the prying eyes of other passers-by who had stopped.

"Let go of the lady right away." Jake had finally arrived. In short, he grabbed the guy by the collar.

"Hey," he said indignantly. "What do you interfere."

Jake pushed him onto the curb and pulled out his badge. "I'm an FBI agent. So, what's going on?"

The two men looked at each other nervously.

"Please help me," the boy shouted again.

"The boy belongs to us," the other guy contradicted self-confidently.

"Are you related?" asked Jake.

"Yes."

"That's not true," the boy shouted and broke loose.

Meanwhile, they were surrounded by a group of passers-by who were following the situation. The boy realized that he could not escape.

Catherine went to him. "What's your name," she asked.

"Tyler. Tyler Biggs."

"Okay," Catherine said. "Do you know these two men?"

The boy nodded reluctantly.

In the meantime, Victoria Thompson had also got out.

"We can't stay here," said Jake. "That's not our business."

"We'll sort it out first," Catherine said firmly.

Jake cursed. "Well then we call the police to take care of it."

This sentence brought an unexpected turn. Both men pushed through the crowd and ran away.

"Where are you from?" Jake asked the boy when they arrived at Catherine's apartment.

The boy was silent.

"You intimidate him," Catherine said.

"Maybe he'd like something to drink," Victoria Thompson asked. "Our colleagues have already equipped the apartment with the essentials."

"Listen, if you don't say anything, we have to hand you over to care," Jake said harshly. He felt cornered by the situation. He was actually here because he had promised his father to look after his mother.

"Something to drink is certainly good," Catherine told Thompson. She wrote something down briefly on a piece of paper that she gave to Jacob. "Here. Why don't you just get some fresh air and do some errands?" She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

Jacob understood only too well. Outraged, he wanted to object that he didn't think of playing the messenger boy for her. In the open passage to the kitchen he saw his new colleague handling. No. He wouldn't do a scene on the first day in front of a colleague he didn't know. Wordlessly, he took the note from Catherine and stormed out.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jake (Jacob) and Vincent **_

Through the inner connection with his son, Vincent already knew where Catherine's new apartment was. "Tell her I'll come to her today as soon as it's completely dark." He ignored the angry state of his son, who ran from one tunnel wall to another.

Now he paused in his steps. "How are you going to do that? The house is under FBI surveillance."

"Also the roof?"

"No. Of course the entrance. And I'll be there. Pa, she's not following the guidelines. A simple trip to her new apartment is already a problem." He started walking up and down again.

"Jacob," Vincent said reassuringly.

"It just doesn't work that way. I am now responsible for her safety. Can you please tell her that," Jake continued.

"Jacob," Vincent repeated insistently. He paused and waited until his son finally stopped. Then he quietly began: "Please tell her that I will come to her tonight." Jacob wanted to reply again, but Vincent raised his hand and motioned for him to continue listening. "It would be very thoughtful if you could leave us alone for a while. I will talk to your mother, but she only does what she has always done. Help others."

Sounded like an accusation in his father's voice. "Pa, but how is that going to go on now? You take a risk if you go to her. And besides, you're not the youngest anymore." He knew it was rude to remind his father of his age.

Vincent ignored it. He smiled instead. "I take that risk with pleasure. Jacob, understand. All the long years of separation. Your mother and I need time for each other." He looked intently at his son. "In the present situation it only works with your help. We will make a breakthrough from the tunnels to her apartment building."

"You mean, like it used to be?" Jake asked. He only knew it from the stories he had heard as a child.

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, just like before. We will get to know each other new." That sounded very confident.

Jake looked attentively at his father. He had reminded him of his age, but Vincent suddenly seemed more awake and alive than he had been for the last ten years. As if a change had taken place in him. Jake didn't like his present situation, but he understood that he couldn't refuse his father's requests. Although everything seemed confused, Jacob had respect for his parents, even if he could not show it yet.

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment; Catherine und Vincent, Jake (Jacob)**_

She had nothing to prepare for the reunion. No candles. The balcony was empty except for a small table and two chairs. Jacob walked restlessly back and forth in the apartment. He actually intended to spend the night here and fended off all attempts on her part to prevent that. He made Catherine nervous. She was already nervous and felt like a teenager before the first date. There was so much she wanted and needed to talk to Vincent about. So much unsaid. She had freshened up and changed clothes, and Victoria Thompson had bought some groceries and then left with the boy. Even before Catherine could ask her son to leave the apartment, she heard a sound from the opened balcony door. There he stood. Tall and sublime, and his aged face radiated a new deep goodness. They looked at each other and forgot the time around them. She felt her heart beat loudly and knew that he felt the same way. Like in slow motion she walked towards him. He took her hand and looked shyly down for a moment, only to look deep into her eyes again the next moment. A loud clearing of the throat reminded both of the fact that something had changed compared to before and that they were not alone. Vincent looked over her shoulders to his son, who followed the scene curiously but also strangely touched. His father's gaze clearly made him understand what he expected of him.

Suddenly Jake felt like a troublemaker at something he didn't understand. "I..." he began. Catherine turned to him. "I'll leave you alone then," he continued.

Both nodded at him silently. He took his jacket and left the apartment. From the corner of his eye he saw his parents embracing each other. And when he closed the door and went to the elevator, he felt love. Her deep, infinite love flooded him like a river that could not be stopped.

"There was an incident today," said Catherine. She reported about the boy. Tyler Biggs. They were sitting on the floor of the balcony, just like before. Only the blankets and some pillows were a concession to their age.

"I could feel that Jacob was worried about something."

"He seemed angry because I interfered." She sighed. "Probably rightly. But I just couldn't look away."

Vincent smiled. "You said that you had changed. But you're just like before."

She smiled painfully, "I've changed," she replied, fearing at the same time the moment when he too would recognize it.

He briefly pressed her to himself. "Jacob was quite upset when he brought me your message."

"Can you really feel him? I mean like...?"

"Yes," Vincent just replied, "and he can obviously feel you."

Confused, she shook her head. "That is very irritating. I mean, back then it was one thing for you. Now... I don't know." Helplessly she shrugged her shoulders.

Again he pressed her to himself. "I think we will have to live with it."

She nodded.

"Tell me about the boy of today," he asked her.

She tried to gather herself. "I fear something terrible has happened to him."

Then she began to report. The boy had only opened up a little when Jacob had left the apartment. Apparently he had more faith in women and fortunately Victoria Thompson was trained in questioning. Still, it took some time for the boy to begin telling what had happened to him.

"The men wanted to sell me," he had told us.

Both women had become sensitive.

"Sell?" Thompson asked.

"Yes."

"What makes you think so?" Catherine asked him.

"Because they do that with all the boys."

"Where are you from anyway" asked Thompson.

"Iowa. From a small town. My parents don't have much money." He shrugged resignedly with his shoulders.

The two women looked at each other. Tyler looked down and seemed to want to say nothing more.

"Have..." Catherine hesitated to say it.

Victoria Thompson became more direct. "Your parents sold you." That was a statement, no question. The boy said nothing.

"Listen, you have nothing to fear from us," Catherine tried to persuade him to speak. "We want to help you."

"Are you from the police?" Tyler asked and looked at Thompson.

"Yes," she replied.

"If they catch me again, I'm due."

"You mean the two men?"

Again the boy nodded.

"Your parents have sold you to these men?"

Suddenly the boy cramped up. "No, first on..." He fell silent and tears ran down his face.

"You can trust us," Catherine tried again to influence the boy.

Victoria Thompson gently tugged her arm and motioned for her to come along. They briefly withdrew into the kitchen.

"I have to call in the social services and the police," Thompson informed Catherine.

She nodded depressed. "I'm afraid you're right."

"You already know what probably happened to the boy?"

"You mean he became..."

"...abused", Victoria Thompson completed the sentence.

"I'm glad I got out of the car and interfered," Catherine told Vincent.

"What happened to the boy now," he asked.

"The police were supposed to inform the welfare department, but he was so scared that I didn't think it was right for him to go to strangers now. Luckily, Mrs. Thompson was of the same opinion and took him to her mother's house where she currently lives."

"Hm," Vincent said. "You don't sound as if that's the end of the matter."

"I'll ask Joe tomorrow to take over the investigation. Somehow I feel responsible for the boy."

Silence entered. Catherine looked nervously at Vincent. "What's the matter?"

"I wished..." he hesitated for a moment. "I wish you could stay out of these things."

"Could you do it in my place?" Catherine asked back.

He smiled resignedly. "No."

For a moment this shyness came up again.

"Tell me something," she asked him and tried to change the subject.

He looked at her questioningly.

"Tell me something about the tunnels. How have you been all these years? Tell me what Jacob was like as a boy." She leaned against him.

He hesitated. "Don't you already know some things by yourself?"

She looked at him questioningly.

"Through Peter," he continued. "You said you had still had contact with Peter."

Did there sound a subliminal reproach in his voice? She was silent for a moment and tried to collect herself. Maybe some things had to be said so that they could start over.

"He knew about the pretended funeral. I took from him the promise not to tell anyone anything." She still saw it before her, as if it had only been yesterday. Peter had had to promise her to tell Vincent and no one else from the tunnels anything. At first he had resisted it and tried to persuade her to go to Vincent after a certain time. But her fears had been too great that anyone would find out about it and that she would endanger the secret of the tunnels.

"Who else knew?" Vincent continued.

"None of you," Catherine said.

The conversation took a disturbing turn.

Thoughtfully Vincent looked her in the face. "We have never withheld the truth," he reminded her of a principle they had always adhered to in their time together. At least until what happened after she disappeared.

"Who else of the people I know knew, Catherine?"

She hesitated and looked at him with great eyes, knowing that she would inflict further pain on him with her answer.

Vincent later didn't know how he got back into the tunnels and to his chamber. The evening had taken a different course than he had hoped. The truth could hurt deeply. Deeper than he could ever have imagined. Catherine's answer had shocked him. She had tried to explain the details and quickly felt that he was not receptive to it.

"You have to understand, Vincent. Joe had to let someone in on the job who kept the facade of the official investigation open."

Horrified, he had looked at her. Unbelieving. That couldn't be true. He had struggled for words. Heavy. It was so hard. "Diana Bennett. She knew all the time?"

She nodded again to confirm.

Again Vincent struggled for words. "Did you have contact with her?"

"Until the investigation was completed and the backers were legally convicted."

"Then you knew she had found me," Vincent asked.

"Yes," Catherine replied.

"Had you told her anything about me before?"

"No, of course not. I kept my word. She only came to me when she had found you." Catherine hesitated a little. "I knew that she would help to find our child. I asked her to, and she promised immediately."

Vincent looked away worried. "So you had no contact with her later then?"

"No."

He breathed deeply.

"At some point Joe told me that she had lost her life in an investigation," Catherine continued.

"Yes," Vincent said slowly.

The truth was a sharp sword. And this sword had two sharp sides.

He turned to her again. "Then you do not know that she..." For a moment he hesitated, but it had to be said. "You don't know that she became a part of our world below. Mine and Jacobs?"

As he walked through the tunnels back to his chamber, he saw Catherine's confused face in front of him.

"What do you mean?" she asked uncertainly.

"She became a kind of surrogate mother to Jacob." Now it was out.

There was silence and he didn't dare to look at her.

She loosened herself a little from him, as if she needed the distance. There was something unspoken in the air. It seemed as if she hesitated to ask something. She shrank from using her words to bring something into this world that had not previously existed between them.

"No, I didn't know anything about it", she said quietly instead. She waited.

It became clear to him that he now had to continue speaking. "Jacob was very attached to her. After her death he decided to go to the police. Nobody could have stopped him."

"And what about you?" Now she asked him. He looked at her from the side, but she didn't look back, but stared in another direction.

"I..." Again this insecurity. "She helped me to find Jacob. I liked her very much."

"Did you love her?" Now she looked him in the eyes.

He sighed, "It wasn't like that. Not like between us."

_**New York; Catherine, Victoria Thompson and Jake (Jacob)**_

Catherine woke up heavily the next morning. During the night she had been rolling around in her bed, driven by irrational feelings and thoughts that she couldn't let go of. Only at dawn did she fall into a short dreamless sleep that did not last long enough to be restful. No, she had no idea that Diana Bennett had fallen in love with Vincent. She hadn't thought about another woman in Vincent's life. If she had thought of him, it was in memories of bygone times. Or she had imagined him together with their son. Otherwise her life had been determined by other things. From strange places and other people.

She laboriously got up and got ready. She suppressed the unpleasant thoughts. There was someone she had to take care of. Tyler Biggs.

In the kitchen, Victoria Thompson was busy.

"Good morning," Catherine greeted her and looked around searching. "Where's my... I mean, where's Jacob?"

"He's outside for a moment, talking to the FBI guys who were on watch overnight," Thompson willingly gave information.

Catherine just nodded. It smelled tempting of fresh coffee. She helped Victoria Thompson prepare breakfast.

"How is the boy?" Catherine inquired.

"He slept blissfully in my mother's guest room and hadn't woken up yet when I had to leave. Don't worry, he is in good hands with my mother. She was an educator for a while and loves children above all else."

Catherine nodded. "What's the next step for him now? What are the police doing?"

"I don't know," Thompson replied.

"I would like to meet with Joe Maxwell today and ask him for help."

Victoria Thompson frowned. "Do you think that's wise, Mrs. Chandler?"

"What do you mean?"

"You shouldn't interfere in these things. Just let the police do their work."

Catherine frowned and was silent for a moment.

"Maybe it's none of my business," Victoria Thompson continued. "But her son, I mean my colleague..." she got muddled.

"You can speak frankly," Catherine encouraged her.

"Your son would certainly like to know you somewhere where you are safe from the people looking for you. If you interfere in this thing now, it will only stir up more dust, and it will not make our work any easier."

"I understand," said Catherine thinking. "Nevertheless, I'd at least like to talk to Joe Maxwell on the phone."

"Catherine, stay out of this." Joe didn't tell her anything new on the phone.

"Could you please keep an eye on the investigation?"

"Fine, but just so you can keep calm," Joe said.

"Promise?" Catherine asked again.

Jacob stood opposite her and followed the phone call tense. When she had finished the conversation, he couldn't hold back. "What do you expect from driving all people crazy? Believe me the investigation is going on as usual."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Catherine said to him. "I know what that means. The case ends up on someone's crowded desk and may be touched at some point." She looked at him provocatively.

Jake had no objections. He was irritated. He could sense her emotions. She was upset and not just because of this boy.

"I would like to go to Mrs. Thompson's mother now to see the boy."

"What? Absolutely not," Jacob contradicted. "You are under personal protection. Your activities put him in unnecessary danger."

"I don't believe that," said Catherine. "Whoever wants to get too close to me must first go through the horde of reporters. I don't think anyone wants to risk that."

"You feel too safe." Jake demonstratively crossed his arms in front of his chest as a sign that he wouldn't give in.

Catherine didn't think long and reached for the phone again. "Yes, hello. I would like a taxi..."

Jake cursed loudly.

_**New York; apartment of Victoria Thompson's mother; Catherine, Jake (Jacob), Victoria Thompson, Mona Thompson and Tyler Biggs **_

In front of the entrance area of Catherine's apartment house there were some reporters, but there were considerably less of them. The attention would eventually diminish. Catherine ignored the questions she was called and got into the taxi with her two escorts. Victoria Thompson told the driver her mother's address and they drove off. Once there, Catherine got out resolutely and headed purposefully to the five-story house to walk up the few steps to the entrance. She was about to push the doorbell as Jake suddenly grabbed her arm and held her back. Only now did she realize that the door was open. Jake nodded meaningfully to Victoria Thompson and took out his weapon. She imitated him.

"You'll stay here," Jake said to his mother. "And do for once what I tell you." At his tense gaze, she just nodded silently and stepped back a step. Carefully the two FBI agents pushed themselves through the door while Catherine waited outside undecidedly. Since she was unarmed herself, it seemed advisable to her to listen to her son this time.

Jacob and Victoria Thompson entered the house. Jake gestured for his colleague to go ahead because she knew better. They nodded to each other and walked through the narrow hallway. Victoria Thompson disappeared in a passageway. Jake followed her on the spot and found himself in a kitchen. The room was empty. Nothing could be heard.

"Mom," Victoria Thompson shouted out loud. "Mom, are you here? It's me. Vicky."

Suddenly a rumble sounded from above.

"Where is it going up here?" asked Jake.

"Follow me," replied his colleague.

Another passage led from the kitchen into another hallway, from which a staircase led up to the upper floor. They cautiously strode upstairs, weapons still at the ready. Again a rumble sounded, then the curse of a man. They dropped their caution and hurried to get upstairs. Jake had trouble following his colleague who had disappeared in one of the upper rooms. As he entered, he was astonished to see a man lying on the floor of the room, holding his hand over his head in a protective manner. Above him stood an elderly woman armed with a frying pan and ready to strike again. Jake crashed into Victoria Thompson, who had stopped.

"Mom," he heard her say. "What's going on here?"

"The guy broke in here," the older woman replied.

"Where's the boy?" Jake asked.

Already one of the cabinet doors opened.

"You can come out," the older lady shouted encouragingly. "The police are here."

Shyly the boy left the closet in which he had been hiding.

"Hello Tyler," Victoria Thompson greeted him.

Meanwhile Jake concentrated on the intruder. "What were you doing here? We met yesterday." It was not difficult to recognize the greasy guy from the street. "Where's your partner?" Jake asked further, as noises sounded from the stairs.

Alarmed, his colleague said, "Apparently he's here too."

"Watch out here," Jake directed her and hurried out.

The stairs were empty. He took two steps at once and hurried through the hallway into the open. He paused at the front door and saw the other guy lying on the sidewalk while Catherine put his foot on his chest. Jake went up to him and grabbed him by the collar. In passing, he noticed that his mother took a few steps back.

"Well, there we have the other bird," he said. "What were you doing here?" He dragged him up the stairs into the house and told his mother with a nod to follow him.

Inside, Victoria Thompson had already handcuffed the other one. "I informed the police. They are on their way," she said. She pointed to the older woman. "By the way, this is my mother. Mona Thompson."

_**New York; Police Department; Catherine, Jake (Jacob), Victoria Thompson, Joe Maxwell, Mona Thompson**_

Together they drove to the police station. Jake mumbled angrily to himself. "This is not our case," he tried again. But this time he stood alone with his opinion.

"Meanwhile it is," Victoria Thompson replied. "Whoever is behind this now knows where my mother lives and has tried to break into her house."

"But only because you let yourself be persuaded to take the boy home with you."

"It seemed to be the best yesterday," Victoria Thompson replied.

"Obviously not," Jacob said sarcastically.

Together they went up the stairs to the police station. Victoria Thompson stopped and waited until Jake also stopped and turned to her. "You don't have to be so damn self-opinionated."

"Why not?" Jake looked at her defiantly.

Both didn't notice Catherine and Mona Thompson entering the police station past them.

Not much more had to be explained. In the end, the facts of the case had already been recorded the day before. Both men were taken into custody. Catherine was not surprised when Joe suddenly appeared during the police questioning.

"Radcliffe, why do you always get into these things? I had asked you to stay out of it. And what happens? You're already back in there."

"That was no intention," Catherine tried to justify herself. "I just wanted to check on the boy."

Joe sighed unnerved.

"What will be done now?" Catherine asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders. "The police will investigate."

"And where should the boy go now?"

"To his parents," Joe replied.

"What?" Catherine shouted indignantly. "You can't be serious about that. According to his statements he only came into this situation through his parents."

"Listen," Joe said to her, "they came forward and said the boy ran away."

"And you believe that?"

"As long as we can't prove otherwise, they're the legal guardians and can take him back."

Now Mona Thompson interfered. "If there are justified doubts, the care can intervene," she said.

Joe looked at her in surprise. "Who are you?"

"That's Mona Thompson," Catherine explained. "The mother of the agent who was assigned to protect me. The boy had spent the night with her last night".

Joe looked at her reproachfully. "I don't have to tell you that was highly unprofessional."

"He felt very comfortable with me," Mona Thompson defended the measure. "I was a teacher. Believe me, I'm familiar with such cases."

Catherine added one more thing. "She also knocked out one of the two guys when they tried to kidnap the boy again."

Joe sighed audibly.

"Joe, what if the boy is telling the truth? He can't just go back to his parents. Please, you must do something."

"And how do you imagine that? Do you think the parents admit that they may have sold him off to pimps? Without proof we are powerless. And if these guys are going to say anything, we don't know yet. Probably we can only get them for attempted burglary."

Catherine tried to stay calm. She thought about it. "Are there still reporters outside?" she asked objectively.

"Yes," Joe said, "they're still stuck to your heels, just as we thought they would be. Why do you ask?"

Shortly decided Catherine jumped up and ran out.

"Hey, where are you going?" Joe shouted after her.

She went through the entrance and saw the waiting crowd of reporters who had been following her for days. Even now she was immediately surrounded by some.

"Mrs. Chandler, what are you doing here at the police station?"

"Do you have to identify any suspects?"

She waited for a moment for the reporters to calm down. "You want to have a story, don't you?" she asked the group. She would give it to them.

Even though she had no evidence, Catherine knew that both the police and the prosecution had no choice but to investigate quickly and uncover the true background. The pack of journalists jumped at the story like starving people at a piece of bread. Now the only question was what should happen to little Tyler Biggs.

It took some time until the hype of the media had died down. FBI agents Chandler and Thompson stood helpless. Joe Maxwell was furious. There couldn't be an easy solution anymore. Nor could they simply hand the boy over to his parents after Catherine had given the reporters various hints. A social worker spoke to Tyler Biggs in the presence of Mona Thompson, who obviously had the boy's confidence. After it was clear that the boy did not want to go back to his parents, but could not go to a children's home either, he was taken to a safe place together with Mona Thompson. Only then was Catherine ready to leave the station with her two watchdogs.

Jake didn't say a word to her. There was also radio silence between him and Victoria Thompson. Catherine sat in the back of the car and absorbed the sounds of New York. The events of the day had so far distracted her from her own uncomfortable and painful thoughts.

_**New York; in the tunnels, Jake (Jacob) and Vincent **_

"So what happened between you two last night?" Jake got straight to the point. He was standing in his father's chamber, who sat silently in his chair, staring straight ahead.

Vincent had barely noticed that Jake had arrived. During the day he had gone through the usual inspection tours and was still lost in thought.

"Pa, talk to me," his son snapped at him.

Vincent looked at him abruptly. "You feel it through her, don't you?"

Jake sat down resignedly on the couch. "Not to mention all the catastrophes that have happened today, I already had the feeling this morning that something was wrong."

"You're angry at her," Vincent said.

"Pa, I promised you I'd look after her." Jake sighed audibly.

Vincent nodded understandingly. And remained silent.

But Jacob didn't want to let his father get away that easily. "So what happened?"

"You don't let go, do you?"

"No. I learned that from you."

Vincent nodded. "We spoke, your mother and I."

"And?" asked Jake.

Vincent sighed and stared at him. It wasn't easy for him.

"Why don't you just come out with the language?"

"I don't want to hurt you," Vincent replied.

"Pa, I'm not a little child anymore." Outraged, Jake looked at him.

"It's about Diana," Vincent started.

And then he told him. After he had finished, silence filled the room. Now Jacob was staring at him and trying to put what he heard into place. Tensely Vincent watched his son and waited patiently for his reaction.

"Then", Jake began after seemingly endless time, "...then Diana knew all the time that..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"Yes. She knew all the time that Catherine was alive." Vincent's voice sounded neutral.

"But why..." Again Jake's voice broke with bewilderment.

"Why she never said anything?" Vincent asked.

"She must have known how much Mom meant to you."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, she knew. Maybe for the same reason that your mother did all this. To protect us."

"But she has you..." Jake stopped talking.

Vincent smiled painfully. "Yes", he just said. He waited for his son to compose himself. "I've been thinking all day about how to tell you."

Jacob shook his head thoughtfully. "All these deceptions. I understand why you hesitated. Why is it all so complicated and..."

"Love is never easy," Vincent said. "And with the immeasurable joy that love gives, the door to great pain always opens."

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment; Catherine and Victoria Thompson **_

Catherine was quiet that evening. She seemed calm and introverted, but inside her thoughts were raging. So much had happened in the last few days. The case of the boy Tyler Biggs and his clearing-up would not occupy her for all time and distract her from other unpleasant thoughts. Victoria Thompson had stayed with her. The smart FBI agent kept her company, but was as silent as she was. They ordered something for dinner and ate together in silence. Jake had disappeared and had left her in the care of Mrs. Thompson without another word. No inner connection was needed to know where he had gone. He was with his father, and Catherine felt a painful sting. There was an inner connection between father and son that had grown over the years. A web of love and trust in which she had no part. And perhaps never would have. Vincent would not come. At least not so soon. And she didn't feel the desire to go down into the tunnels. She poked about her food listlessly. Diana Bennett. The name ran through her mind and left an oppressive feeling of betrayal and loneliness. And yet. Was it so bad that this woman had taken care of Jacob? He had grown up surrounded by people who loved him. And she had always wanted that for her child. How often had she prayed in all those years that he and his father were well.

She pushed the plate away with the food. "I don't think I'm hungry tonight."

Victoria Thompson nodded to her. "Neither did I."

She put the plates aside and let the leftovers disappear in the trash can.

"Have you heard from your mother?" asked Catherine.

"Yes, she's fine." Victoria Thompson hesitated for a moment. "What do you think if you just call me Vicky," she suggested. "It looks like we'll have a lot to do with each other for an indefinite period of time. I mean, we could save ourselves the formality."

"Very much gladly", answered Catherine. "Friends used to call me Cathy."

"All right. Cathy." Victoria Thompson nodded to her.

"Aren't you worried about appearing unprofessional?" asked Catherine.

"Professionalism and distance are not the same in my eyes," Vicky replied.

"I could imagine Jacob seeing it differently." Catherine stared straight ahead and saw her son in her mind. Unapproachable and distant.

"You're not very close, are you? Is it true that he grew up with his father."

Catherine just nodded and didn't go further into this delicate subject.

"I am surprised that he was allowed to act as a bodyguard for you. Normally we are not allowed to do that with close relatives," Vicky objected.

"I know," Catherine replied. "You argued with him today," she changed the topic. "Why?"

"I don't like being reproached," Vicky replied.

"In retrospect, Jacob is probably not entirely wrong," said Catherine. "As for my intervention on the matter and the boy's placement with your mother."

"I don't think so," Vicky replied. "Who knows where the boy would have gone if we hadn't taken him with us. And nobody in the children's home would have protected him as resolutely as my mother did."

"You're right," Catherine agreed with her with a smile.

"That's why I think Jake just overreacted today. And I won't put up with that."

"I'm sorry if this isn't an easy job for you and I've just complicated everything."

"It's none of my business," Vicky said, "but what happened between you and your son?"

Catherine was silent because she didn't know what to answer.

"I'm sorry," apologized the FBI agent, "it's probably really none of my business."

"Except to the point that you have to take the rap for the dissonance that prevails in our relationship." Catherine smiled wistfully. "I can't tell you everything, but maybe so much that I know Jacob as little or as much as you do."

"But he's your son."

"Oh yes," Catherine replied. " That's him."

The conversation with Victoria Thompson had only briefly distracted Catherine. Tired, she stepped on the balcony and looked out at the city. It was comforting. This feeling of home. She looked around. Even though New York had changed and seemed louder and more colorful than ever, she was overcome by the familiar feelings of yore. Not everything was lost.

Jacob came sometime during the evening and replaced Victoria Thompson. There still seemed to be radio silence between the two. But he gave his mother a strange look. Catherine went to bed early, even though she knew she couldn't sleep. Jake had made his makeshift bed at the top of the gallery. It took some time for him, too, until his eyes fell.

_**New York; Tyler Biggs and Mona Thompson**_

Someone else couldn't sleep. Tyler Biggs stared at the ceiling in the room illuminated only by a weak floor lamp. He had asked to leave the lamp on. Next door in the room Mona was asleep. Mrs. Thompson. But he was allowed to say Mona to her. The name was pretty. He was afraid. And at the same time he longed back home to his parents and siblings. Mona had told him that he didn't have to go there if he didn't want to. But he had also heard other conversations. They wanted to come and get him. They would come to fetch him. And then... He threw himself on the bed. Nobody was allowed to know. Unconsciously he wiped the tears from his cheek, which flowed without him being aware of it. No one should know what he had done to him. Tyler was ashamed.

Mona Thompson was up early. You didn't need that much sleep in old age, and she wanted to see if Tyler was all right. They were in a place that was often used for important witnesses who had to go underground. Mona trusted that this place was safe. Finally, she trusted what her daughter was doing, although she had never really made friends with the idea that Vicky was often in danger. It was best not to think about that.

Quietly she sneaked over so as not to wake the little one if he was still asleep. The fear was unfounded, but only gave way to another restlessness. The bed was empty. Not only that. The things he had worn no longer lay on the chair that stood next to the bed. Mona Thompson knew what that meant. She hurried to find her mobile phone.

Tyler was out alone. He only had the things he was wearing and some cash he had taken out of Mona's wallet. Secretly he had sneaked into her bedroom full of fear that she might wake up. But everything had gone well. He was still in New York. He had already noticed so much. After the tiredness had become too great, he had hidden in a cellar entrance of a house and slept there in a curved posture until dusk came up. Fortunately it was not so cold. Soon Mona would realize that he was gone. Strangely enough, he felt no fear. On the contrary, he felt strong. In a deli, he got some food from Mona's money. None of the people who stood there and had only the workday ahead of them in their minds spoke to him or took note of him. He walked aimlessly through the city.

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment; Jake (Jacob) and Victoria Thompson**_

Victoria Thompson appeared early the next morning in Catherine's apartment. Jake opened the door with naked torso and dressed only in trousers and socks.

"Good morning," he grumbled.

Vicky stormed past him. "Is Cathy, I mean, Mrs. Chandler already awake?" she asked.

"I haven't seen her yet," Jake replied grumpierously. "Didn't you bring anything for breakfast?"

"I didn't have time for that."

Suddenly Jake understood that something must have happened. "What's going on?"

"The boy has disappeared."

"But..."

"Yes, I know," Victoria Thompson continued, "he should be in a safe place with my mother, but apparently that wasn't safe enough."

"Your mother..."

"My mother is well. When she woke up this morning and wanted to check on the boy, he was gone."

"You mean he ran away himself?"

"In any case, it looks like this. There are no signs of burglary."

"Shit," Jake cursed, "maybe his parents told the truth after all and he ran away from home."

Vehemently Vicky shook his head. "I don't believe that. He seemed too disturbed for that." She looked at him expectantly.

Irritated, Jake asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Perhaps you should consider to what extent you want to inform your mother."

Jacob hadn't thought that far at all. He didn't think much of lies, and keeping something quiet was nothing more than withholding the truth.

"I'll tell her what happened."

Victoria Thompson ironically raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't want her to interfere in everything."

"I don't want that either," Jake confirmed, "but she'll find out something like that sooner anyway."

Thoughtfully Vicky looked at him. "The sleep seems to have done you good."

"What makes you think that?" asked Jake.

"Yesterday you were still pissed off at your mother and at me and..."

Jake waved off. "I can't mess with everyone at the same time."

Hesitantly Vicky asked: "So can I hope for your support in the matter?"

"That depends on what you mean by that." He became more reserved again. "It still annoys me that my mu... that she interfered."

"I don't know what's between you," Victoria Thompson said, "but your mother just tried to do the right thing. I kind of admire her for that."

Jake suddenly had the feeling that they weren't just talking about the boy's case anymore.

"I should finish getting dressed," he said and disappeared upstairs.

_**New York; Office of Joe Maxwell, Catherine, Joe, Jake (Jacob) and Victoria**_

"Joe, how can it be that a little child disappears from a supposedly safe place? Without a trace". Catherine was upset in Joe Maxwell's office.

"I don't know. Damn," Joe cursed out loud. "Normally I'm not allowed to give you any information. And not to those two at all." He pointed to Jake and Vicky, who stood quietly on the wall of the office and watched the argument.

Someone carefully knocked on the office door. Joe almost didn't hear it. "I don't have time," he shouted through the closed door, expecting to be understood outside.

Nevertheless, the door opened and a young employee looked in through a crack. "Mr. Maxwell, there's someone for you."

"I told you I didn't have time now," he said.

The rude tone actually made the young woman pause for a moment. "Detective Tanner is there with the boy's parents."

That brought Joe to his senses. "Okay, take her to the meeting room."

She nodded and closed the door again.

Joe turned to Catherine and the two FBI agents. "I guess I can't dissuade you from the case like I know you Radcliffe."

Catherine only ironically raised her eyebrow in response.

"I thought it to myself," Joe replied resignedly. "Just do me a favor and stay here while I talk to the parents." He looked at her warningly.

"Maybe it's possible that I'll take part in the conversation," Victoria Thompson suddenly interfered. "After all, my mother saw the boy last and knows the story."

Joe wanted to fend off. "Officially, the FBI has nothing to do with this, and it should stay that way."

"Just let me be there unofficially as a spectator. After all, it's not an interrogation or something," Victoria Thompson tried to persuade him.

Joe nodded. "All right, then."

Together they left the office and Catherine and Jake were left alone.

_**New York; meeting room; Joe Maxwell, Victoria Thompson, Gregory and Mara Biggs, Samuel Payton, Detective Tanner **_

"Promise me you won't interfere," warned Joe Vicky before entering the meeting room. She nodded to him briefly.

A man and a woman were sitting at the big table, both in their mid-thirties. At her side stood another man with a moustache and dark hair.

"Hello," Joe greeted them as they entered. "My name is Joe Maxwell. I am the DA in charge." Only briefly did he nod to Detective Tanner, who was sitting opposite Tyler Biggs' parents.

They stood up now. "I am Gregory Biggs, and this is my wife Mara," the man introduced himself and the wife.

Joe reached out his hand to them. "And you are..." he turned to the man with the moustache.

"Samuel Payton. I am a friend of the family," he said. "I didn't want to let Greg and Mara go the long way alone, especially since they don't know New York."

Vicky was grateful that Joe hadn't drawn attention to her and stood still on the wall by the door. She watched the scene. It was obvious that Mr. and Mrs. Biggs were ordinary people. The clothes of jeans and checkered shirt and blouse suggested a rural origin. Samuel Payton, on the other hand, was accurately dressed in a suit and tie and almost looked like a lawyer. But only almost. He is too young, Vicky thought to herself.

"The police told us yesterday that you found our boy," Gregory Biggs began the conversation. "We want to pick him up and take him home with us."

"So you're sure he ran away?" Joe asked directly.

"Not for the first time," replied the father.

"Have you ever thought about getting help," Detective Tanner said.

"What kind of help?" asked the mother.

"Well, maybe someone from the welfare office," replied Joe.

Now Samuel Payton interfered. "It would be like shooting cannons at sparrows," he said. "The boy is in a difficult phase at the moment, but that will soon be over."

"He claims you sold him." Joe watched the reactions closely after letting go of the sentence.

"What," Gregory Biggs shouted indignantly, while his wife looked completely horrified.

At least that seemed to be real, Vicky thought to herself.

"We did everything we could to get his crazy ideas and spinning under control," continued Gregory Biggs.

"What spinning mills?" Joe asked immediately.

Now Mr. Biggs suddenly became calm again.

Mara Biggs slid restlessly back and forth on her chair. "He's been very strange lately," she started.

"Shut up, Mara," her husband interrupted her, "otherwise we won't get the boy back, and he'll go to some children's home."

Joe didn't respond to that objection. "To what extent was he behaving strangely," he said to Mara Biggs.

"So", she began again and was interrupted again.

"Is this an interrogation?" asked Samuel Payton. "Do the parents have to justify themselves if the boy runs away?" He sounded aggressive.

Joe tried to stay calm. "We're just trying to figure out what actually happened. Her son was picked up in the presence of two men who also tried to kidnap him afterwards."

"But why?" Mara Biggs asked in horror.

"We thought you could explain it to us."

"We don't know anything about these two men," Gregory Biggs replied. "We also don't know how the boy made it to New York alone."

"Maybe because he wasn't alone," Detective Tanner objected.

"Stop intimidating Tyler's parents. Otherwise, we'll be forced to take on an attorney." Samuel Payton seemed threatening.

"How are you connected to the family?" Joe asked him.

"Sam is looking after the church's youth groups in our town," Mr. Biggs explained.

"Tyler is in one of my groups. I take care of what happens to the children. We help and support them at school and outside the classroom." Samuel Payton crossed his arms in front of his chest: "It sometimes happens that the children test their limits. It won't be any different in Tyler's case now."

"Mrs. Biggs, Mr. Biggs," Joe continued quietly, "there are signs that her son has been abused."

"That can't be. Did he say so," Gregory Biggs indignantly said.

"Calm down Greg," Samuel Payton tried to appease him and turned back to Joe. "Listen, you should be aware that this is just a protection claim by the boy."

"I'm not so sure," Joe replied.

"But..." Mara Biggs gasped for air.

"As long as we haven't investigated all the options, we cannot close the case," said Joe.

"And when can we see our boy again?" asked Mara Biggs.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Leo, Olivia, more children**_

Vincent felt that something was not in order. But it had nothing to do directly with Catherine. He also felt this through his son. Jake was agitated on the one hand and calm on the other. The story of the boy was in the newspaper that a helper sent down every day. Catherine had made sure that the case became known. She interfered. No wonder Jacob was excited.

"Hello Vincent, I was looking for you." A boy stood in front of him.

"What have you got, Leo?" Vincent asked the boy, who was about ten years old.

He reached out his hand. "Here is a message for you. From above".

Vincent hesitantly accepted the folded sheet of paper. "Thank you Leo."

"I brought it right away," Leo explained. "Just in case it's important."

Did the boy have any idea how much he wanted a message from Catherine? The children knew the story of him and his love for Catherine. They knew the stories of Catherine, of her beauty, her warmth and her courage. But they knew nothing of the feelings when a long lost dream awakened to new life. Vincent felt like a child who was afraid to reach out for a soap bubble because it might burst. He took the note and went into his chamber.

The letter was from Jacob, and at first Vincent felt nothing but boundless disappointment. Catherine had not written. Then he pulled himself together and read:

"The boy has disappeared. We suspect that he ran away himself and runs around the city. Can you please inform the helpers? Maybe the children can look around, too. Jake."

Vincent leaned back in his chair. Maybe there was hope after all. His son asked him for help. He already got up and hurried to Pascal, who could pass the message over the pipes. Then he went to the children who had just been taught by Olivia. They would surely be happy about a free afternoon. They could do something. He could do something. They could help.

"What does he look like?" Leo asked directly when Vincent had made his request.

"Unfortunately, I don't know. His name is Tyler Biggs and he's probably wandering around somewhere in town."

"New York is big," Leo replied. "You always say that yourself."

Vincent bent down to the crowd of children. "I know, but you know what it looks like above and you can just keep your eyes open and look around."

"Do you think it's a good idea to use the children for this," Olivia objected. "There was something in the newspaper about a child trafficker ring. Aren't we putting them in danger unnecessarily?"

"The two men who tried to kidnap the boy are in prison," Vincent reassured. "Otherwise, nobody is counting on our children above."

The children swarmed out, always in pairs, as he had instructed them.

_**New York; Tyler Biggs **_

Tyler got tired from running around. The lack of sleep of last night was noticeable. He also got hungry again, but he didn't want to spend all Mona's money right away. He was jostled from behind when he wanted to enter a department store. An older boy walked past him and took a quick look around. Tyler didn't think anything of it. He wandered aimlessly through the shop until a saleswoman approached him. He ran away quickly.

_**New York; Joe Maxwell's office, Catherine and Jake (Jacob)**_

Silence fell over the room. A strange kind of silence. Catherine looked at her son. First he looked past her, and then her eyes met.

"You were with your father last night, weren't you?"

He just nodded silently and remained silent.

"What did you talk about?" Catherine didn't want to let up and take the opportunity to speak to Jacob.

"That..." he began and paused abruptly. "I wanted to know what had happened between you."

"Then you have talked about..."

"Yes, we were talking about Diana Bennett." Jacob looked at his mother with that cool distance that was so characteristic of him.

"I'm sorry I'm opening up old wounds," Catherine apologized.

Jake just shrugged his shoulders. "It can't be changed anyway."

"What do you mean?" asked Catherine.

He spread his arms a little awkwardly. "Everything. It can't be changed. With you. With Diana. And with Pa and me. We have to live with it."

"Do you think you can forgive me someday?"

Jake looked confused at his mother. "How do you mean?"

"That I let you down," Catherine replied.

"Why do you think, you let me down?" Jacob contradicted. "As I understood you, you surprisingly survived and at least put the criminals behind this bastard behind bars."

"Yes, but I let down the two most important people in my life for that."

Jake looked down uneasily. He didn't know how to react to his mother's confession.

"Have..." Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then she continued. "Were Mrs. Bennett and your father very close?"

Jacob's face was petrified. He saw Catherine reproachfully. "She loved him."

Catherine nodded only mutely and rigidly.

Jacob went on: "And at some point she retired because she knew she could never get past your shadow and he would never love her that way."

Catherine closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry", she said again.

"Me too", Jacob replied. Nothing else.

Silence spread like a curtain over old furniture.

_**New York; Tyler Biggs, hot dog salesman, Leo and Susan **_

The fear came creepingly. He felt tired, thirsty and hungry. He stopped at a hot dog stand and ordered a coke and a hot dog. But when he reached into his pocket for the rest of the money, it was empty. Panicked, he looked in the other pockets of his trousers and jacket, while the man with the finished hot dog in his hand waited and lost his patience.

"What is boy? Don't you have any money?"

"I had some. Honestly." Tyler was desperate. He must have lost it, but his pockets were deep. He didn't know the finesse of pickpockets.

"If you have no money, there is nothing," the hot dog man snarled at him. "Go away."

Tyler watched desperately as the man threw the delicious hot dog aside. He withdrew. Now he was scared and didn't know what to do. Tired, he shuffled on and found himself in front of the department store where he had been before. Suddenly he saw the older boy who had bumped into him earlier that day in front of that department store. He watched as the boy bumped into someone again and instinctively felt that this was no coincidence. He saw the boy around the corner disappear and followed him some distance away. There Tyler watched the boy pass the wallet, which he had obviously stolen, to a man.

"They're pickpockets", someone behind him said.

Tyler turned around. In front of him stood a boy and a girl who looked at him curiously.

"What's your name?" the boy asked him.

"Why do you want to know?" Tyler asked back.

"We're looking for someone," the girl replied. "My name is Susan."

The experience had made Tyler cautious. He had understood that he could not trust anyone in this city. At least not so fast. And those two children couldn't help him either, he was sure.

"So what is your name?" Susan asked, because she probably thought she had broken the ice.

"It's none of your business," Tyler said gruffly. He turned around and just walked away.

He quickly disappeared through the front door of the department store. There he took the escalator all the way up and down again.

"Hello boy, what are you doing?" A man in a suit spoke to him.

He quickly wanted to turn away, but was held by his arm.

"I've been watching you for a while. I know you and your kind. You're looking for people who haven't packed their wallets safe."

"That's not true," Tyler contradicted. "I'm not one of them."

"Oh stop it, laddie. You're coming with me now." The man pulled Tyler by the arm with him.

"Let go of me", Tyler shouted in panic. He tried to tear himself away with all his might, but the man held him tight.

"You are now coming with me."

Suddenly the man received a violent blow from the side, that he lost his balance and fell down. Finally the grip of Tyler's arm came loose. He wanted to run away quickly and suddenly faced Susan, the girl from outside.

The boy also appeared and nudged him. "Come on. We should get out of here fast."

They ran out together. This time Tyler followed the two without any objections. Even when they led him into a half-decayed house in the basement.

_**New York; District Attorney's Office of New York; Joe Maxwell, Victoria Thompson, Catherine and Jake (Jacob) **_

"Why didn't you tell the parents that the boy had disappeared," Victoria Thompson asked after she and Joe left the meeting room.

"I didn't want any more dust being stirred up," Joe replied.

"It's best not to tangle with this Mr. Payton," said Detective Tanner.

"If he calls in an attorney, we'll get in trouble that we couldn't take care of the boy." Joe made an unpleasant face. "Especially as the press is hoping for new information."

"Maybe we should focus on getting light on this case," Vicky said.

"We?" Joe asked her. "You mean the New York Police Department. You have nothing to do with it. You should concentrate on protecting Mrs. Chandler."

"I don't think it's possible to separate the two," Victoria Thompson replied. "Besides, I have a feeling there's something wrong with this Samuel Payton. Maybe you should check him out," she turned to Detective Tanner. He nodded confirming.

Joe resignedly raised his hands up. "Okay, okay. I realize I don't seem to have anything to say about it."

Together they entered his office where Catherine and Jake were waiting.

Catherine looked at Joe questioningly, but he waved off. "Listen, you know I can't give you any information."

Promptly, her questioning gaze turned to Victoria Thompson, who nodded to her only briefly.

"Where is your mother now," Catherine asked her.

"She's still in hiding in the case Tyler comes back after all."

"No, he won't," said Catherine. "He is afraid."

"Quite obviously," Vicky said.

"Then let's pick up Mona Thompson," Catherine determined, looking at her son questioningly.

He only looked back briefly to her and then nodded in agreement.

Joe decided to reveal something. "I assume that you'll find out anyway, but the parents will first be accommodated in a hotel. So far they don't know that the boy has disappeared from our care. Even the press doesn't know that, and I hope it stays that way." Warningly, he looked at Catherine.

She nodded in agreement. "Nobody learns anything from me."

They said goodbye to each other. Catherine and her two guards picked up Mona Thompson and brought her home. Vicky brought her mother into the house while Jake and Catherine waited in the car.

"I informed Pa," Jake told his mother.

"Because of the boy?"

"Yes. I asked him to inform the helpers."

"It will still be difficult to find him," said Catherine.

"It's definitely a possibility," Jake replied.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Tyler, Leo, Susan, Vincent and Jake (Jacob)**_

"Where are we here?" Tyler asked the other two anxiously.

They walked together through tunnels that were only sparsely lit by light.

"Don't be afraid," Susan replied. "We know our way around here. We are at home here."

"Down here?" Tyler asked doubtingly.

"Yes," replied the other boy who had introduced himself as Leo. "Don't worry about it. You're safe here."

"You don't have to be afraid," Susan also tried to calm him down.

So Tyler went deeper and deeper into a labyrinth of corridors and hoped that everything would be fine this time.

"He's sleeping," Vincent said to his son. "He was very hungry and tired."

Jacob just nodded and looked at the sleeping Tyler Biggs. He could hardly believe it when he received the message from his father.

"Did he say anything else?" he asked.

"At first he was afraid when he saw me. But the other children could calm him down quickly, and he had dinner with them."

Jake nodded thoughtfully and turned away.

"What are you going to do now" Vincent asked.

"I don't know yet", Jake replied honestly. He felt a little helpless.

"You haven't told your mother anything", Vincent stated.

"Only that I asked you to inform the helpers so that they could look around."

Vincent sighed, "You don't trust her."

"That's not true," Jacob contradicted. "I just don't want that she..."

"... continues to interfere", Vincent completed the sentence.

Jake shrugged her shoulders uneasily. "Actually, I can't interfere as an FBI agent either."

"The boy needs help," Vincent said.

"Yes. Obviously something bad has happened to him and it's about finding out who's responsible for it."

"Then at least you're sure he didn't just run away from home."

"Maybe," Jake said, "maybe he ran away, but there's got to be a reason for that, too."

"What about the parents" Vincent asked.

"I don't know. From what Vicky told me, it may well be that they don't know anything." Jacob frowned. "I'm afraid I'll have to take Tyler up with me."

Vincent nodded. "You must be right. But let him sleep here overnight. It's better if he's rested."

_**New York; Office of Joe Maxwell; Joe Maxwell and Anna Stanton**_

"Mr. Maxwell, I'm glad I caught you." Anna Stanton waved to her boss with a folder in her hand.

"What is Anna?" asked Joe, who had already put on his coat.

"Here you see, this just came from the Police Department," Anna replied. "It's about the boy who's disappeared."

Joe looked at the clock. It was already late, but he had no family waiting for him. A dream that had fallen victim to the search for justice. He took the file. "Thank you Anna." So he turned around and entered his office, which he had almost left that evening. The matter was simply too important.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jake (Jacob), Vincent, and Tyler Biggs**_

Journalists had got wind that Tyler's parents were in town. Officially, he was still housed in a secret place. Nobody had noticed anything about it that he had run away. Jacob disappeared early in the morning from Catherine's apartment to talk to the boy. But Tyler was afraid of him. That was obvious.

"I take you to Mona Thompson and to Vicky, my colleague." Jake spoke reassuringly to him, but the boy backed away. "You know, I'm the FBI agent." He showed him his badge. "I'm one of the good guys."

Vincent watched the situation. "Tyler, why are you afraid of Jacob?" he asked the boy.

He looked at him with big eyes and remained silent.

"He is more afraid of me than of you," Jake said objectively.

"Yes," Vincent said. "Get your mother."

"What!" Jake said indignantly.

"Get Catherine," Vincent said.

"I didn't tell her we found the boy," Jake said.

"The boy is obviously afraid of men, but not of children and women. And your mother is the only one he knows who can get down into the tunnels." Vincent reasoned logically so that Jake couldn't say anything against it.

"Okay, good," he said then.

"Bring your mother here. The boy will go with her."

Jake feared his mother's reaction. He also had to catch a moment without Victoria Thompson. He sent his colleague out to discuss any suspicious events with the people on the night shift.

Catherine reacted surprisingly calmly as he told her everything.

"Good. Then at least he's safe," she said calmly.

"You realize he can't stay there. He has to come up, but he doesn't want to go with me," Jake summarized briefly.

She understood. "You want me to come with you."

He nodded. She hesitated only briefly considering that she would see Vincent again for the first time after the failed evening. Then she took her coat and together they left her apartment house via the staircase.

_**New York; Office of the D.A. of New York; Joe Maxwell, Detective Tanner, Mara and Gregory Biggs, Samuel Payton**_

Joe Maxwell was determined to bring light into the matter. Even though he didn't know where Tyler Biggs was, at least he had the chance to find out the truth. And he would, damn it, do that. He had sent for Tyler's parents and, as expected, they had appeared accompanied by Samuel Payton.

"So you claim the boy ran away from home." He stood with his hands on his hips in front of Mara and Gregory Biggs.

"We told you that yesterday," the father said. "Where is our boy? Can we finally take him home with us?"

"And you can't imagine that there's anything to your son's claims," Joe asked.

"Stop this nonsense and give us the boy," Samuel Payton demanded aggressively. "We'll take care of him."

"Oh, I'll bet you do," Joe said. "We found out that you are not a blank page." With that, Joe threw a file on the table. "You've already been convicted of possessing child pornography pictures."

The sentence hit like a bomb.

"There must be some mistake," Gregory Biggs said. "You are mistaking Sam for someone else."

"No, I don't think so," Joe replied.

It was obvious that Samuel Payton felt uncomfortable.

"Do you have anything to say?" Joe asked him.

"This is all just a misunderstanding," stammered the man with the moustache. "These pictures were put under me at that time." Now he raised his shoulders aggressively. "I had nothing to do with these pictures."

"Then you probably have nothing to do with the sexual attacks on an 11-year-old in Iowa." Joe waved triumphantly with another file. "There, too, you were an employee of a youth group of the church."

Samuel Payton looked frantically to the door as if trying to find a way out.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine, Jake (Jacob), Vincent, Tyler Biggs**_

"Hello, Tyler." Catherine kneeled down to him. "I have heard that you are down here. How are you doing?"

"Quite well," said Tyler. He looked at her vigilantly. "You want to take me with you, don't you?"

She hesitated for a moment and felt a little self-conscious under the gaze of Vincent and Jake. "Don't you want to go back?" she asked gently.

Tyler shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

"Are you afraid you'll have to go back to your parents?" asked Catherine.

Tyler looked uneasily at the floor. He visibly felt uncomfortable.

"You don't have to go back if you don't want to," Catherine promised him.

Jake wanted to contradict, but Vincent asked him to be quiet.

"I took Mona's money," confessed Tyler, contrite.

Catherine nodded understandingly. "That is not bad. She is not angry with you. She worries about you."

Tyler looked at her doubtfully. "She is certainly angry."

"She is looking forward to seeing you again soon." Catherine smiled encouragingly at him.

"But I still have to go to my parents first?"

"You don't want to see them?" Vincent asked now.

For a moment the boy was silent. "He said they sold me to him."

"Who said that?" asked Catherine.

"Sam," Tyler replied, "he said I would make a lot of money and I should do what he says. He has…"

Catherine spontaneously took him in her arms. "It's all right," she said calmly to him.

"Sam?" asked Jake irritatedly. "The parents had a Samuel Payton with them yesterday."

Tyler visibly froze in Catherine's arms. "Please", he begged now, "please don't force me to go back to him."

"You certainly don't have to go back to that man," Vincent assured him. "But you have to help Jacob so that this man cannot do the same thing with other children as with you. Do you understand that?" He seriously looked at Tyler.

He nodded and looked at Catherine questioningly.

"Jacob and I stay with you. We go to the police together. We won't leave you alone. Promise."

_**New York; Office of the D.A. of New York; Jake (Jacob), Catherine, Joe Maxwell, Detective Tanner, Mara, and Gregory Biggs, Samuel Payton **_

Jake and Catherine walked slowly through the hallways of the New York City Attorney's Office with the boy. Tyler clasped Catherine's hand. He felt insecure, but better than if only the grim-looking FBI agent had gone with him. Tyler had promised not to tell anything about the world below in the tunnels.

"And you really stay with me all the time?" he asked Catherine as they stopped in front of a door.

She bent down to him. "Promise." She looked at the boy seriously. "And are you sure you're ready to see your parents?"

Tyler nodded in response. Jake then opened the door without knocking. All three of them entered the meeting room.

"Tyler!" Mara Biggs jumped up and ran to her son. She took him in her arms with tears in her eyes. "Finally," she shouted out loud.

Hesitantly, the boy returned her embrace, but said nothing. Gregory Biggs had also got up, but stood uncertainly beside his son and wife, as if he didn't know what to do now.

Catherine nodded to Joe, who followed the scene in amazement. "Where did you come from?" he wanted to know after a short moment. "Just don't tell me that..."

Catherine waved off. "That's a long story."

Finally, Gregory Biggs bent down to his son and took him in his arms, relieved. But Tyler still made no effort to return the hug, let alone say a word. He remained silent. Jake saw him looking over his father's shoulder at Samuel Payton, who looked at him like... Jake couldn't find words for it, but he didn't like the look of that man.

"Where have you been" asked Mara Biggs. "We were so worried."

Fearful, Tyler looked at Payton. He turned to Catherine and pointed his finger at him. "There. That's the man. He was the one."

Catherine kneeled down to him. "Tyler, are you sure?" All eyes were on the boy.

"What did Sam do?" asked Gregory Biggs.

"He has..., he has..." Suddenly he sobbed loudly. "I can't tell."

Gregory Biggs rose angrily and turned around, but Samuel Payton had disappeared.

There was a tumult. For a short moment no one had paid attention to Samuel Payton. Jake and Detective Tanner rushed through the open door outside into the hall. But there was nothing to see of Payton. Both ran away in different directions. Joe ran to the nearest office to the phone and hectically called the building's security. Catherine followed him briefly and heard him command not to let anyone out of the building. Joe waved reassuringly at her and she went back to the meeting room where she had left Tyler with his parents.

"Where is your husband?" she asked as she only met Tyler with his mother as she entered.

"He wants to try to get his hands on Sam," Mara Biggs replied. She remained silent for a moment. Tyler briefly embraced his mother. She looked at Catherine over his shoulder. "We didn't know," it broke out of her. "We had no idea. Greg will kill him if he catches him before the police."

"Then I'd better let Mr. Maxwell know," Catherine said. "Please wait here." She nodded to Mara Biggs and left the room.

Catherine still found Joe in the office on the phone. She waved nervously at him and waited until he had finished the conversation.

"What's going on" asked Joe.

"Gregory Biggs is looking for Mr. Payton on his own," Catherine replied. "I don't think it would be good if he found him before the security forces. Apparently, Tyler's parents really didn't know anything."

Joe nodded understandingly. "Where is the boy?"

"With his mother in the conference room."

Joe followed Catherine, but when they entered the room together, it was empty.

Surprised, Catherine looked at Joe. "They were just here," she said.

"Damn," Joe cursed and ran back to the phone.

_**New York; D.A.'s office in New York (stairwell and backyard); Tyler, Mara and Gregory Biggs, Samuel Payton, Jake (Jacob), Vincent, Catherine, Joe**_

"Please don't hurt my boy," begged Mara Biggs.

Samuel Payton was unimpressed. With his gun in his hand, he felt strong. He pushed her. "Go on."

They walked through a dark stairwell that apparently led down to the back of the building. Floor by floor they descended to come out of an iron fire door at the bottom. Samuel Payton pushed Mara and Tyler further. They had landed in a backyard. No one was looking for them here, but the only way out was to the street where policemen were already standing.

"Damn," Samuel Payton cursed.

"You son of a bitch!" Gregory Biggs appeared from the passage to the street angrily. "Keep your hands off my family." He stormed towards Payton, who was visibly nervous.

"Stop," he screamed hysterically, but Gregory Biggs didn't listen to him and didn't even notice the gun in Payton's hand.

He waved it wildly when he was already thrown to the ground by Gregory Biggs. Falling, he shot. Gregory Biggs saw a moment in disbelief and then sank to the ground.

"Greg!" screamed Mara and kneeled down to him.

The fire door opened and Jake came out with his pistol drawn. But the situation had worsened. Samuel Payton had pulled Tyler in front of him and held his gun to his head.

"Not a step further," he shouted as if from his senses. "I shoot. I swear."

"Listen, Payton," Jake said to him, "it's over. Give up."

"So that you can book me in or put me in some kind of loony bin." He seemed to be completely out of his mind now. "You can't do that. Drop the gun," he ordered. "Or the boy is dead."

Jake felt that the situation was about to escalate. Carefully he put his gun on the ground. In the background, the sobbing of Mara Biggs could be heard as she bent over her seriously injured husband.

"Listen, Payton. That doesn't make any sense. Give up," Jake tried again, stopping with his hands up to indicate that he had no intention of throwing himself at the man.

No one in the front of the street had noticed what was happening in the back yard. Jake feverishly considered what to do. Payton didn't seem to know what to do either.

He gasped hectically. "I have to get out of here. You..." he pointed with the gun at Jake. "You take me away from here. Inconspicuously". When Jake didn't react immediately, he screamed. "Immediately!"

"If you keep yelling like that, the police will certainly notice you," Jake tried logic.

Suddenly a roar was heard, like from an animal. Samuel Payton turned around irritated and saw a shadow in a black hooded coat. At that moment Tyler bit him in the hand. With an outcry he dropped his weapon and at the same time received a slap in the face that made him sink to the ground dazed. The shadow disappeared. Jake lunged on the one lying on the floor while Mara Biggs pulled her son to the side and saw, confused, how a man in a dark hooded coat disappeared up over the fire escape of an adjacent building. Jake slapped the bastard in the face again, knocking him unconscious.

"Please run to the street and tell the cops there that we have the guy," he instructed Mara Biggs, who wavered for a moment between her son and her injured husband. Then she nodded.

When Catherine and Joe arrived, Samuel Payton was taken away in handcuffs. An emergency doctor was treating Gregory Biggs.

"Will he make it?" Catherine asked her son.

"I don't know. It didn't look good." Jake looked skeptical.

Catherine watched worriedly as Mara Biggs and Tyler got into the ambulance with the injured man.

"How did you manage to disarm the guy so quickly?" she asked Jacob.

He just ironically raised his eyebrows and she understood.

_**New York; Jake (Jacob), Catherine, Victoria Thompson**_

Jake talked to the police while Catherine was waiting. They had informed Mona Thompson to reassure her. Vicky was on her way to pick up Catherine. As it turned out, Samuel Payton had a criminal record. He had taken pictures of undressed boys and put them in the Darknet. There he had literally offered the boys for sale. Joe was confident that the police could use Payton's contacts to get to other perverse bastards who were trying to get at children. Catherine let Vicky drive her home. She felt exhausted and not only physically. Jacob came to the evening and reported that Gregory Biggs was out of danger.

Calm returned. After dinner and a shower, Catherine stepped out onto the balcony. She looked longingly at the city. She thought of Vincent. What should she do now? When they saw each other in the tunnels in the morning, it was all about the boy. Could there still be a future together? She looked down on Central Park, from where a special brightness radiated at one point. Catherine remembered an article in the newspaper. A concert was given. She didn't have to think long. When she went back to the apartment, she heard that Jake was taking a shower. She quickly dressed. Victoria Thompson had gone home to her mother. If she hurried and was lucky, she could escape past the security guards via the stairwell.

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment; Jake (Jacob) **_

Jake took a long shower. The events of the day had also affected him. Something like that didn't pass anyone by without a trace. A quiet evening in front of the television seemed more than inviting to him. Except for the restraint that he still felt about his mother. She was still a stranger to him, and he didn't know how that would ever change. He decided not to worry about it and only entered the living room in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Searching he looked around, but there was nothing to see of Catherine. He wanted to call for her and faltered. They had never talked about what he should call her. "Mom," he called then. Silence. He cursed.

Then he took his gun and mobile and hurriedly left the apartment looking for his mother. The security guard in front of the building had been briefly to the restroom. Jake stood on the sidewalk and looked around hectically. There was nothing to see of his mother.

"Fuck," he shouted out loud.

A few meters further on there was a street vendor with a small stand.

"Hey! Have you seen an older woman who came out of the building here?"

The man looked at him. "Do you mean right now?"

Jake nodded.

"There was such a lady. She went towards Central Park." The man pointed in that direction.

"Thank you," Jake said briefly and hurried on.

_**New York; Central Park; Catherine, Jake (Jacob), Vincent**_

Catherine walked towards the lights and the music. She heard the crooked sounds that showed that the musicians were tuning their instruments. Certainly the concert was sold out. But if she got close enough, she could at least listen to some of the music. From a distance she saw people sitting in their seats. It would start right away. She waited. And she remembered. Times when she had been sitting in one of those places. And times when she had been listening in the dark with Vincent right under the front row. It had been another world and another life. The concert began. Catherine listened filled with painful longing. They played the "Evening Prayer". Catherine thought of little Tyler and the events of the day. She thought of Vincent and her son, whom she didn't know. And she heard the voice.

Evenings, when I go to sleep,  
Fourteen angels with me keep,  
Two stand at my head,  
Two at the foot of my bed,  
Two are at my right hand,  
Two are at my left hand,  
Two in covers tuck me,  
Two at morning wake me,  
Two that point the way to rise  
To heaven's paradise.

Shocked, Catherine stood there filled with a tremendous longing. They were so close. She felt that. She just had to go to him.

Vincent felt the restlessness of his son. Something had happened. It was about Catherine, and he followed his instinct and his son's direction without really knowing why. He only knew that they had to find each other again. He felt a longing for her nearness. It could not be in vain. It must not be in vain. All that they had lived through and endured. Not for her, not for him and not for Jacob.

Jake saw her from afar. But probably he felt her more than he could really see her in the darkness. She was agitated. She had stopped at some distance from the concert setups and listened in the darkness of the music. Jake heard the sounds only weakly. He had stopped as soon as he had spotted Catherine. He didn't dare approach closer, as if an invisible hand was holding him back. Then he saw her abruptly turning away from the music. She wiped her hand over her eyes. Did she cry? Around herself, around the boy, around his father, around... Jacob followed her through the darkness of the park. He finally had to protect her. She purposefully went to the tunnel entrance in the park. She wanted to see his father, but Jacob wanted to be sure. When his mother reached the tunnel entrance, Jake remained hidden behind a tree. Vincent waited at the entrance and reached out to Catherine. She grabbed his hand and both looked at each other. Jake watched them disappear into the darkness of the tunnel.

_**New York; Jake (Jacob), Rebekka Rose**_

He didn't know how long he had stood there behind the tree and stared at the tunnel entrance. At some point he turned away and thoughtfully made his way back to the apartment. Routinely, he informed the security guard that everything was fine with Catherine.

"Mr. Chandler," he said, "there was a woman asking for you."

"A woman?" Jacob asked irritatedly.

"Yes. She spoke with an accent. Probably from abroad."

"Did she leave again" asked Jake.

"She's waiting inside in the foyer," the security guard replied.

Curious, Jake entered the apartment house and looked around. There she was. On an armchair in the waiting area. She looked up at the same moment and smiled as she saw his surprise. She put the magazine she had been leafing through aside, stood up and went to him.

"Hello Jake, nice to see you again." So she reached out her hand to him.

Still amazed, Jake took her hand. "Good evening, Becka." Speechless, he looked at Rebekka Rose.

She laughed at him a little shyly while he was still holding her hand.

_**New York; in the tunnels, Catherine and Vincent**_

Vincent and Catherine looked at each other. He held her hand. Both didn't say a word. They also understood each other as if there was a new band growing. Hand in hand they walked through the tunnels. Vincent led Catherine the way back to the music and to the familiar place where they had so often listened to the heavenly sounds and melodies. He leaned against the tunnel wall and pulled her with him so that she could lean against him. Silently they listened to the music for a while. Only when the musicians took a break did they come back a bit into the here and now.

Catherine looked at him helplessly. "Vincent, what are we going to do?"

"We can only live with the past," he said calmly. "We can no longer change it. And we can accept what time gives us."

She smiled weakly. "How much pain can a person endure?"

"Catherine." His rough voice became unusually soft. "With love everything is possible. And love was always there and still it is, isn't it?

Her smile became wider. "Yes. You are right. It is still there."

She put her head on his shoulder and he held her tightly and wished to be able to stop time at that moment.

36


	3. Chapter 3: Closeness and distance

**Closeness and distance**

_**Behold, I send an angel before thee,**_

_**to keep thee by the way, **_

_**and to bring thee into the place **_

_**which I have prepared.**_

_**(Exodus 23, 20)**_

_**New York; Museum of Modern Art; Simon Mallory (Director)**_

It was early in the morning. Simon Mallory knew that he would be alone. That was exactly what he had intended. With the code for the back entrance he gained access to the building. The security service was busy changing the guard. He knew the times. It was also nothing unusual for him to show up early in the morning at the museum. He had done this before. The security man would only register that he had logged in with his code and was already in the house. Time enough for him. He took the rear elevator up to the top floor where his office was. With the briefcase in his hand, he hastily unlocked his office door. He had to hurry. He literally threw the bag onto the desk. He already turned to the painting on the wall behind his desk. With a skillful grip he lifted the painting from the wall. Behind it, a safe embedded in the wall came to light. He entered the combination of numbers known only to him and opened the iron door. Too late he noticed that he was no longer alone. Abruptly he turned to the shadow behind him. Even before he could express his fright at the appearance, the blow hit him at the temple. The stranger struck again with all his might. Then he turned to the open safe. Quickly he searched the contents, found what he was looking for and put it away. Without another look at Simon Mallory lying on the floor, the stranger turned away and left the office.

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment House; Catherine, Victoria Thompson, Jake (Jacob), Rebekka Rose**_

Carefully, so no one would notice, Catherine sneaked through the basement. All she had to do was climb the stairs to reach the elevator. She hadn't spent the night in her apartment and was hoping to come up unnoticed by the FBI guards. How could she have answered people's questions? She had to keep the passage in the basement leading to the underground tunnels secret. It was enough for her to have to answer to her son, who she had simply left alone the night before. Catherine looked carefully into the hallway where the elevator was. Nothing was to be seen. Relieved, she pushed the button up and was grateful that the elevator was down so quickly. She hurriedly entered it and pressed the 18th floor.

Victoria Thompson was rested. She had slept through last night. For this she was very grateful in view of the events of the last days. Surely, they weren't quite through with the story about little Tyler Biggs. After all, he had been temporarily with her mother, who understandably continued to worry about the boy.

Vicky had skipped breakfast and just got a coffee to go to Cathy Chandler's apartment. When she reached the building, she nodded briefly to the guard on duty, who was outside watching that no stranger entered the house. As she entered the lobby, she could see from the corner of her eye that the elevator door was open. Quickly she ran to the closing door and shoved her free hand into the still open gap. As expected, the door opened again and Vicky looked into Catherine Chandler's amazed face. Astonished, she paused and almost forgot the elevator door closing again. She pushed the door apart a second time and entered the elevator.

"Cathy. What are you doing here?" Of course, Vicky noticed that Catherine Chandler was standing fully dressed in the elevator and obviously wanted to go up. It was still early.

Catherine feverishly considered how to explain her dress. "I..."

Vicky beat her to it. "Don't say you just got some fresh air so early in the morning."

Catherine closed her mouth again.

"Does your son know you weren't in the apartment?"

"He knows," Catherine said confidently.

Vicky raised her eyebrow upwards as if waiting for further explanations.

"That may sound strange," Catherine began, "but you don't have to worry. And Jacob really knows." In the end, she knew that Vicky had to be suspicious by profession. She could only hope that her son could somehow dispel his colleague's doubts.

"Well, I don't know what to think about that." Vicky let her thoughts run wild. "It seems strange to me that he lets you walk around unsupervised. Please don't misunderstand me, but as far as I know you're still in danger."

The elevator door opened and initially released Catherine from an answer, but she could feel Victoria Thompson's curiosity and questions. Determined, she went ahead and opened the door to her apartment. Both women carefully entered the apartment. Quiet music from the radio sounded from the kitchen. Jacob was already awake, thought Catherine. She went to the kitchen to greet him. He must have heard her coming.

"Jacob," she exclaimed from the entrance. "Vicky and I are here."

The rattling from the kitchen stopped. Curious, Catherine entered the room and stopped in amazement. She felt Victoria Thompson behind her.

"Hello," she greeted the neat young woman standing at the sideboard with the coffee machine.

"Who are you?" Vicky asked directly and with a demanding tone in her voice.

"Um, I am...," the woman stammered and nervously plucked the men's shirt that she was apparently wearing as the only garment.

"You are Mrs. Rose," Catherine remarked in amazement. "From the Museum of Modern Art in Berlin."

Relieved, the young woman nodded. "Yes, I'm Rebekka Rose." Then she paused for a moment in amazement and looked at the older woman in astonishment. "And you are Mrs. Burton. We know each other."

Slowly Catherine nodded and took a closer look at the lightly dressed woman in her kitchen.

"Mrs. Burton?" Vicky asked irritated and looked from Catherine to Rebekka Rose.

"May I ask what you're doing in my kitchen?" Catherine asked now.

"Your kitchen..." Rebekka Rose gasped for air and seemed to want to disappear into thin air.

"Do I see it right that you know this woman?" Vicky asked.

Catherine nodded thoughtfully.

"Mom? Is that you?" The questions were followed by hasty steps on the stairs.

"Yes, I am here," Catherine shouted and felt a laugh rising inside her. Had she just caught her son in flagrante with a woman?

Jake pushed Vicky and his mother aside. "Becka," he just said, noticing her lightly dressed outfit.

"Oh Jake, I'm sorry. I just wanted to make coffee," it gushed out of Rebekka Rose.

Catherine saw her son and Rebekka looking at each other for a moment. Involuntarily she had to smile. "Well, I'll go into my bedroom and put something else on," she said meaningfully, hoping the hint would be understood.

"Um, so I'd like an explanation," Vicky demanded.

Catherine waved her hand off. "Later."

Jake cursed silently and saw his mother disappear into her bedroom. He hadn't planned this situation ahead. He stood in the living room in consternation, looking from Becka to his colleague and back again.

"I..." Becka tried to say something.

This time it was Victoria Thompson who waved off. "I'd better leave you alone." She gave Jake another look with obvious interest. "Then you can get dressed in peace," she added smugly.

When the door had fallen into the lock behind her, Jake stared at the floor in front of him and wondered how he could straighten the situation out again.

"I'm sorry," Becka just whispered and disappeared up onto the gallery.

"Fuck," Jake cursed. He felt like a schoolboy who had been caught at something forbidden.

Of course, he was to blame for the situation himself. Beckas appearance the previous evening down in the lobby had at first surprised him and taken him out of concept. They had gone up to the apartment together and talked about everything. He had known his mother to be safe with his father in the tunnels and had used the possibilities offered by the apartment. It wasn't the first time he had slept with a woman. He just hadn't thought beyond the night and that his mother would reappear at some point. And the look of his colleague had spoken volumes. Jacob was so absorbed in thoughts that he didn't even notice how his mother came out of the bedroom. She had changed her clothes.

Catherine looked at him friendly. "Where's Mrs. Rose?"

"Um," Jake began, feeling confused and strangely ashamed at the same time.

"She is welcome to have breakfast with us. Then she can tell us what brings her to New York and if there's any news about the investigation into the murder of Dr. Lau in Berlin."

Jake was confused. His mother's kindness surprised him. Didn't she want an explanation from him? He felt insecure. What did she think of him now? That he slept with every woman he could have? And would she tell his father? But perhaps his father knew more anyway. Jake had never really talked about his life in the world. And probably his father suspected more than he had ever said.

"Why don't you go upstairs and get dressed," Catherine said to him. "I'll make breakfast."

He drove around, but then Rebekka came down the stairs, dressed with her bag in her hand. She seemed embarrassed.

"Um, I better go." She looked at Jake.

"Come on," Catherine interrupted eye contact. "Have breakfast with us. Then we can talk."

Uncertain, Rebekka looked from Jake to Catherine and back again. Catherine gently grabbed her arm and pushed her into the kitchen.

At that moment the door to the apartment opened and Vicky came back. "You're still not dressed," she said with a look at Jake and grinned ironically.

"I don't quite get it. So, you're not Jessica Burton?" Catherine nodded in agreement with Rebecka's question before she continued. "But you lived in Berlin for a very long time. Dr. Lau had always raved about the long connection to you."

"Over ten years," Catherine confirmed while sipping her coffee.

Curiously, she looked back and forth between Rebekka Rose and her son. Jacob seemed visibly overwhelmed by the situation and remained silent. Catherine had to smile inside. Surely her life had changed dramatically recently. But that she would catch her son spending the night with a woman was something she never expected in her life. At the same time, she had to think of Vincent. How did he think about his son's life? And how much could he really knows. What did he know about Jacob's life as an FBI agent and as a man? Catherine was torn from her thoughts.

Victoria Thompson had joined the conversation. "So, what brings you from Berlin to New York? If your boss was murdered so recently, you certainly have other worries than a short trip here."

Rebekka glanced nervously at Jacob under Vicky's suspicious eyes. "I wanted..." she faltered and gave him a look. "Jake and I had met in Berlin during his investigation. I had inquired about him with his colleague in Berlin because he had had to leave so suddenly and I had heard nothing more from him."

"And there you sit down on the plane and jet to New York." Victoria Thompson looked suspicious through and through.

Noisily Jacob pushed the cup to his side and rose. "I'd best take you to your hotel," he said to Rebekka. Surprised, she looked at him.

"Don't you want another cup of coffee? You barely had breakfast," Catherine said to him.

Jake waved his hand off and waited until Rebekka drank the last sip of coffee and got up as well.

"It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Burt... I mean Mrs. Chandler."

"Yes, it was nice to see you, too." Catherine nodded to her.

Stiffly Rebekka and Vicky shook hands and said goodbye.

"You stay here and take care," Jake said unnecessarily to Vicky.

"Of course," she replied pointedly and watched suspiciously as he left the apartment with Rebekka Rose.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Victoria Thompson **_

When Victoria Thompson came back from the front door into the kitchen, Catherine was already cleaning up the table. At first Vicky helped her wordlessly.

Catherine had to smile involuntarily. "You obviously don't like Miss Rose."

Immediately Vicky paused in her movements. "Call it professional mistrust, but her story is pretty thin." With these words she put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"Well," said Catherine, "I've already assumed that my son leads a normal life, even though the situation this morning was a little surprising."

Vicky noisily closed the lid of the dishwasher and looked at Catherine. "What do you know about this Rebecca Rose?"

"Not much. She is, or rather, she was the assistant of Dr. Lau, the director of the Museum of Modern Art in Berlin."

"The one who was murdered," Vicky said.

Catherine nodded. "I often worked with him when my name was Jessica Burton and I lived in Berlin."

"What happened after the death of Dr. Lau?"

"I can't tell you that," Catherine told her. "I didn't notice anything more about the investigation because someone had obviously decided to kill me, and I shortly decided to came to New York."

"So the question remains why Rebekka Rose came to New York," Vicky said.

"Because of Jacob?" asked Catherine into the room.

"And where did she get the address of the apartment from?" Vicky continued. "The apartment is in your name and you've only been living here for a short time."

Catherine nodded thoughtfully to Vicky's conclusions. There was a knock at the door and the women were torn from their thoughts.

_**New York; Jake (Jacob), Rebecca Rose**_

"I got you into trouble. I'm sorry about that."

Jake only waved it off briefly. "You don't have to apologize," he said to Becka.

"But..." she contradicted.

"Leave it alone." His answer was too harsh. He noticed it immediately.

Rebekka remained silent. They took the elevator to the underground garage. Jake had no qualms about taking the company car.

"What hotel did you stay in?" he asked.

"Hilton," Rebekka replied.

Jake whistled loudly through his teeth. "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

"Why?" Becka looked puzzled.

"The hotel is usually subscribed to for people with the right change," he said sarcastically.

Rebekka understood. "Oh, well, I didn't book it myself."

"Which brings us to the point we didn't get to last night," Jake said.

They hadn't spent the evening chatting about anything trivial. Somehow Jake had felt enchanted. Many things had happened lately that he hadn't worked through. The appearance of his mother had turned his life upside down. Watching his parents gradually become familiar with each other again had aroused feelings in him of which he had not been aware before. When Rebekka had suddenly stood in the lobby, it had been like a valve. In principle, there had already been crackling between them in Berlin, but there other things had been in the foreground. Last night he hadn't been unnecessarily asking questions and just let his feelings run wild.

"Why are you in New York?" he asked directly.

"Oh, that's very simple," Rebekka replied. "I have an interview." Despite that simple answer, she seemed kind of nervous.

"You want to move to New York," Jake continued.

She nodded confirming. "I applied as an assistant to the director of the Museum of Modern Art. That had been months before we met. The job in Berlin was only meant to be temporary for me anyway. I really wanted to get out of Germany."

Jake nodded and thought. "Did you hear anything about the investigation into the murder of your boss?"

She shook her head. "Not much. All the museum staff was questioned. Me too, of course. As far as I know, the police are in the dark."

"Then the stolen picture didn't reappear either" Jake asked.

"No. You mean Kristopher Gentian's?"

He nodded while driving the car safely through the city traffic of New York. Rebekka looked carefully over at him. "You ask a lot of questions."

He nodded. "Professionally," he replied briefly.

"Mrs. Burton... sorry, I mean Mrs. Chandler is really your mother?" Becka asked.

"Yes," Jake replied curtly.

"That's very surprising," she said.

"Oh yes," Jake confirmed. "That's it."

Nothing more. He did not intend to explain the exact details to Rebekka. It was much too early in their relationship for that. He stopped in front of her hotel.

She hesitated to get out. "Will we see each other again" she asked shyly.

He nodded. "I have your mobile number. I'll call you."

She looked at him as if she doubted his words. "Despite everything, it was nice to see you again." She leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the mouth.

When she got out, he called after her. "I still have one question."

She turned to him.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asked.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Pascal **_

It was quiet down here in the tunnels. The typical silence in the underground, interrupted only by the distant and near rattling of the subway and the eternal equal sounds of the pipes that served the communication of the community that lived down here. Satisfied with himself and the world, Vincent walked through the tunnels, surrounded by the weak light of the candles. His eyes were still excellent. Vincent no longer wondered why he was spared some of the human weaknesses that occurred in old age. He accepted it and was grateful. Very grateful. He felt a deep, intimate gratitude within himself like never before. Catherine lived and was in New York. And their son Jacob was with her. The two people he loved so much in the world were so close. With this knowledge he was filled with a contentment that was new and immeasurable. He was happy. He walked through the tunnels with a smile that shone from the inside out.

"Is there anything new?" he asked Pascal when he arrived in the pipe chamber.

"Not from down here," Pascal replied. "The usual."

"Are the guards all at their posts?"

"I think so. Are there any problems?" Pascal looked at Vincent asking. "Or are you expecting a message?"

Vincent just shook his head, but Pascal looked at him attentively. "Catherine was down here all night, wasn't she?"

Vincent just nodded contentedly and thought back to last night. After the concert in Central Park ended, Catherine and he walked silently through the tunnels. Dreamy and newly familiar. It had been wonderful. That's why he was filled with hope. A new hope for something he had long thought lost.

"You look somehow happy," Pascal said.

Vincent nodded smiling again. He tried to find words. "It's... I don't know how to say it."

Pascal just smiled at his friend. "You don't have to say anything. I am happy for you and Catherine. Even if maybe not everything is the way you would like it to be."

Vincent nodded confirming. "I know. We need time." He hesitated for a moment. "It's as if we meet again. Frightening and full of magic." He broke off.

"You don't have to explain anything else. It's enough that everything will be all right now," Pascal said.

Vincent was thoughtfully swaying his head. "Not all the hurdles have been cleared out yet. Catherine's life is still in danger. And Jacob has to learn that he has a mother who loves him very much. So much that she gave everything for him."

"Then he has not abandoned his mistrust now either," Pascal replied.

"What do you mean?" Vincent asked.

"Oh, you know that." Pascal waved it off. "Your son has always been suspicious and careful of everything and everyone. Maybe it has something to do with what happened to him as a baby."

"Or what he got to know through Diana and her job as a cop," Vincent said. "There was always something distant and reserved in him that even I could not penetrate."

Pascal nodded in agreement. "As if a part of his being wasn't there at all." He paused and turned to the pipes. He took a few steps to a place where several pipes crossed and then followed three parallel pipes for a few meters. He took his stethoscope, which he always wore around his neck, and pressed the end to the middle pipe and listened.

Curiously, Vincent waited. It could only be a recent message just coming in.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Victoria Thompson, Gerry Fisher, Jake (Jacob)**_

"I was actually going to see your son. Jacob Chandler." Gerry Fisher stood in Catherine's apartment and looked around searching.

"He's not here. But I think he'll be back soon." Catherine pointed to the sofa. "Wouldn't you like to sit down for a while?"

Uncertain, Gerry Fisher looked around. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"Hard to say," Victoria Thompson said. "He's busy right now."

Fisher frowned at the allusion.

Catherine ignored Vicky's allusion and pointed again to the couch. "You can sit down for so long. Can I offer you something to drink?"

Obediently Gerry Fisher sat down. "No, thank you," he said. Then he stood up abruptly and stretched out his hand to Catherine. "Mrs. Chandler, I would like to express my deep admiration for everything you have done for our country."

"Um," Catherine shook his hand in surprise. "I..."

"Most people don't realize how much people like you do for our country," continued Gerry Fisher. "I admire you. We can't thank you enough."

"Um, thank you very much," Catherine said, as Gerry Fisher sat down again.

Although the FBI chief had refused, Vicky got a bottle of water and placed a glass in front of him. She smiled at Catherine in quiet agreement who sat opposite him.

"Well, you want to see my son," Catherine said.

"Yes," Fisher replied monosyllabically and then poured himself some water.

"And that's why you came all the way from Washington this morning?" Catherine remained persistent.

Gerry Fisher visibly struggled because he apparently didn't want to tell anything. "It's about his last case", he then revealed and fell silent again.

Catherine nodded to him understanding: "The art forgery thing, why he was in Berlin, right."

"Did he tell you about it?" Gerry Fisher already wanted to blow up, but Catherine waved off.

"Not directly. I don't think you know, but I've lived in Berlin under a false name for the last ten years and worked in the art scene there."

Victoria Thompson, who followed the conversation, raised her eyebrow with interest and hissed audibly through her teeth.

"Oh," Gerry Fisher said in astonishment. "Were you involved in the case?"

"Not directly," Catherine said. "But I did mediate in loans of works of art and took care of the legal affairs. I also had a lot to do with Dr. Lau, the director of the Museum of Modern Art in Berlin. He was murdered just before I had to leave Berlin."

"So then you also know about the missing picture of this American artist?"

"From Kristopher Gentian, you mean?"

Gerry Fisher's mouth remained open for a moment.

"So what happened that you wanted to show up here and talk to my son about it?" asked Catherine.

The door to the apartment opened and relieved Gerry Fisher of an answer. Jake entered the living room and stopped in surprise.

"Gerry?" He looked asking at his boss. "I wasn't expecting you here."

Gerry Fisher stood up relieved and reached out his hand to Jake to greet him. "Yes, there's an urgent matter I need to talk to you about." Uncertain, he looked over to Catherine. "Mrs. Chandler was kind enough to let me in."

Catherine smiled without obligation. "It's your last case why you were in Berlin."

Gerry Fisher tried to defend himself. "Mrs. Chandler told me she knows the art scene before..."

Jake smiled ironically. "Why don't you apply to the FBI right away," he told his mother. "You're meddling in things that don't concern you."

"Really?" Catherine replied. "And why did you want to talk to Jessica Burton in Berlin in order to get information about this art forgery thing?"

Jake was unable to answer.

"Oh yes," Gerry Fisher said. "Mrs. Burton, the art expert. You hadn't been able to talk to her, and the agent in Berlin said she disappeared without a trace."

"Not quite," Jake replied. He pointed to his mother. "Mrs. Jessica Burton is sitting there. But now she is known under her real name again. Catherine Chandler."

"Oh." Surprised Gerry Fisher looked from Catherine to Jake and back again.

Victoria Thompson, who had been following the conversation silently so far, intervened. "Cathy, what do you say we take a look around the stores? You said your wardrobe needed a little refreshment."

Catherine understood the hint. Even though she was curious, she knew when it was better to give in. "A good idea," she said to Vicky. "I'll just get my jacket."

_**New York; Catherine, Victoria Thompson **_

Vicky had Jake give her the car keys, and together with Catherine she left the apartment. They took the elevator down to the garage.

"I'm surprised you gave in so quickly," she told Catherine.

She waved it off.

"You had this Fisher almost so far that he had told you the reason for his coming."

Catherine just nodded seriously. "I know. But I've understood by now that it's no use imposing."

Vicky smiled ironically. "Do you really not want to interfere in your son's affairs anymore? That would surprise me after this morning's events."

"Mr. Fisher and whoever has to do with the counterfeit art case will come to me when they are ready," Catherine replied confidently. "Without my help, they won't be able to solve the case."

Victoria could only look at Catherine from the side in amazement.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Gerry Fisher, Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

"So what brings you here?" Jake asked his boss directly.

Gerry Fisher still seemed insecure about the facts he had learned about Catherine Chandler.

"Yes," he said in consternation, "it's about this art thing, about the forgeries. You had had contact with Simon Mallory, the director here in New York."

Jake nodded. "Yes, before I flew to Berlin. Why?"

"Simon Mallory was found dead in his office this morning. The safe was open, and obviously documents were stolen from it." Gerry Fisher did not wait until Jake had digested the message. "I immediately took a special machine from Washington. It's about that," he hesitated, "I wanted to ask you if you could get involved in the case."

Jake thought feverishly. "That somehow sounds like parallels to the murder of the museum director in Berlin." He was visibly torn back and forth.

"I know you asked to be allowed to take care of your mother personally, but in this case..."

Jake just nodded. "Yeah, of course I'll help if I can, but..."

"We'll step up surveillance on Mrs. Chandler," Gerry Fisher promised, and seemed relieved somehow.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Pascal**_

Pascal listened for a long time and Vincent waited patiently.

"There's news from above," the master of the pipe chamber said. "Something happened in the city." Again he held his ear to the pipe listening.

Vincent, who still had very good senses, listened along. "Someone was murdered," Vincent noted.

"The news comes from Marjorie," Pascal added. "She works for the museums. The museum director was murdered." Pascal continued to listen. "And something was stolen from the museum safe."

Vincent thoughtfully turned his head. "Maybe a picture?" he asked himself more than his friend.

Pascal just shrugged his shoulders. "Marjorie suspects it may have something to do with Kristopher Gentian's paintings."

"This case of the forgeries Jacob was working on before I asked him to take care of Catherine." Vincent seemed worried all of a sudden. "Something's not right."

Pascal nodded in agreement. "But it has nothing to do directly with us down here."

"I'm not so sure about that," Vincent said and disappeared in a hurry.

He headed for Father's old chamber. His suspicion was confirmed, there was already mail from the helpers upstairs. He quickly looked through the incoming messages. Below was a parcel in the form of a roll of cardboard. Curiously, Vincent looked at the packaging. There was no sender on it. He opened it and had trouble getting the rolled sheet of paper out of the tube. It was a sheet of drawing paper. Apparently older, because it was a bit yellowed. Vincent rolled the sheet apart and froze. Unconsciously, he held his breath in fright at the sight of what he saw. It was only a sketch, apparently quickly scribbled. He let out a breath and leaned back in the chair. As if spellbound, he stared at the drawing. He and Catherine. Only with a few strokes, but nevertheless sketched very aptly. This had to be a preliminary sketch for the painting that was in his chamber. The oil painting by Catherine and him by Kristopher Gentian.

He pondered and briefly summarized in his head the facts he knew. Jacob had most recently worked for the FBI on a case about art forgery. That's why he flew to Berlin and came across Catherine there without being aware of it. Catherine had already lived there for years under a different name and had officially worked as an art expert. Vincent stood up abruptly and left the chamber.

_**New York; Museum of Modern Art; Gerry Fisher, Jake (Jacob) Chandler, policeman**_

Jacob Chandler staggered emotionally. On the one hand, he had a guilty conscience because he disregarded his father's request and did not stay with his mother. On the other hand, he was happy to escape this obligation and to be able to continue working on "his" case. Together with his boss, he drove to the crime scene, the Museum of Modern Art, where he had met Simon Mallory a few weeks ago, who had now been murdered. He calmed his conscience knowing that Catherine was in good hands with Victoria Thompson. He fully trusted his colleague. Both women got along very well. The Museum of Modern Art was closed due to the fact that the director had been murdered. Jake and Gerry Fisher were let through unhindered by the security forces and police to the office where the murder had taken place. Simon Mallory's body had already been taken away for further examination in forensic medicine. Everything else was in the office exactly as the police had found it.

"Who found the body?" Jake asked the local officer.

"First his secretary," the policeman replied. "She is in shock and cannot give any further details at the moment."

Jake nodded understandingly and inspected the office more closely. He saw the place where Simon Mallory had died. In his thoughts he recapitulated the meeting a few weeks ago. Simon Mallory had been an agile man in his mid-forties.

"And the murder is supposed to have happened this morning" he asked.

"Yes. The coroner was sure that the death occurred one or two hours before it was discovered," said the policeman.

Gerry Fisher had also looked around. "Why was Mr. Mallory there so early?"

"According to security, that wasn't unusual," the policeman continued. "Mr. Mallory often came early in the morning. The only difference today was that he hadn't used the main entrance but the back entrance."

Jake had meanwhile gone to the open safe. "Has anyone checked the contents of the safe?" he asked.

The policeman shook his head. "We got the information early that the FBI was taking care of it and hadn't touched anything since."

Jake nodded and started to take a closer look at the contents.

_**New York; Catherine, Victoria Thompson**_

Catherine felt exhausted. She had gone through several stores with Victoria Thompson. Something she hadn't done in recent years. But she hadn't been able to take much with her from Berlin, and so it was necessary, even if it wasn't her thing anymore. Her life had taken place beyond consumption. But that had actually already been the case when she met Vincent and her life had changed from the ground up. Life in all its ups and downs was more valuable than most people appreciated. She had learned that in the course of her life. And rarely did life fulfill the wishes of the individual, unless you fought for it.

"We were quite successful," Vicky said and went to the car with some bags.

"Yes," Catherine just said, "you can see it that way."

"You're tired," Vicky said. "We should go back to the apartment."

"You're right. I realize more and more that I'm not the youngest anymore."

"But you still look very good for that," the FBI agent said, because she felt she had to cheer Catherine up.

She smiled briefly. "That's very charming of you." But quickly the smile disappeared again.

They walked past a few stores when a boy ran by and turned to them. He immediately seemed familiar to Catherine. He held briefly and put a note in her hand even before Victoria Thompson, who had taken a few steps, had turned around. Catherine put the note away without hesitation as the little one ran off in the other direction. She hurried to catch up with Vicky, who had stopped and looked curiously.

"Was anything wrong with the boy?" she asked in professional tone as an FBI agent.

"No, why," Catherine replied indefinitely and went on resolutely.

Vicky frowned only briefly and then left it at that.

Arriving at her apartment, Catherine left the shopping bags unnoticed in the living room and went into the bedroom. Only where she felt unobserved did she unfold the piece of paper. Vincent wanted to see her. It was urgent. That sounded unusual after the night she had spent with him in the tunnels. Lost in thought, she entered the balcony from the bedroom and looked out at the city. As expected, her son had not been in the apartment. He was probably involved in the case of the art forgeries. Thoughtfully she looked back into the room. How could she make it, past the FBI agent with the razor-sharp look and get into the tunnels unseen?

_**New York; Museum of Modern Art; Gerry Fisher, Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Policewoman**_

"Have you been able to organize anyone who's taking over my mother's surveillance alongside Mrs. Thompson?" Jake asked his boss.

Gerry Fisher nodded confirming. "Yes, it's all going well. By tonight at the latest, there's an extra man."

Jake fought against his guilty conscience. He had promised his father to look after his mother. Now he was involved in this case. But in the end, it was also about murder, even his father had to understand that.

"At least now we know that the perpetrator or perpetrators are not after money," Fisher said, already busy with the case again.

Jake nodded. "Yes, the money in the safe had not been touched. Do you really want to stay in New York until the matter is cleared up?"

"Yes. I have the order from quite high up," Gerry Fisher confirmed. "For some people, the fun is over now that museum directors have been murdered across borders. Some politicians are pretty nervous now."

They were still standing in Simon Mallory's office looking around more or less helplessly.

"Apparently there must have been something important in the safe, otherwise the perpetrator wouldn't have waited for that exact moment when the safe was open," Jake said.

Outside the hallway there was a loud sobbing. Curiously, Jake went out and saw the secretary sitting at her desk in tears. Two policewomen bent over to her and tried to calm her down.

Jake waved a policewoman towards him. "Looks like the secretary couldn't say anything yet, huh?"

The policewoman nodded confirming. "The woman is totally disintegrated. At least here we have Mr. Mallory's diary. We could print it out." With that she put a note in Jake's hand.

Gerry Fisher joined in. "Thank you very much," he said to the policewoman.

She felt discharged by the two FBI agents and went back to the secretary. Jake unfolded the note with Simon Mallory's appointments. He focused on the current week and day, although he did not suspect that the killer had made an appointment with the director.

Gerry Fisher stood right next to him. "We should talk to all the people on the list. Maybe we can find out what Mr. Mallory was busy with at the time."

Jake nodded absently while his gaze was drawn to a name on the schedule. Blimey. He felt the presence of his boss beside him and became hot. What was he going to do now?

"Let me take a closer look," Gerry said to him and took the sheet of paper out of his hand. "The dates today are interesting." He looked through the names. "That's not much. The first appointment is a Rebecca Rose." He waved the policewoman to him. "Here, try to get out of the secretary to find out who this Rebekka Rose is." He looked at the clock. "According to the schedule, she should have shown up by now."

The policewoman just nodded and went over to the secretary. Jake felt as if he was losing control of the situation.

_**New York; Tunnel under Catherine's apartment; Vincent and Catherine **_

Vincent waited patiently. He knew Catherine had to wait for an opportunity to come down. He was standing in the tunnel below her apartment house, from where they had made in short time a breakthrough to the basement, which would be relatively quick to close in case uninvited people became aware of it. Once again, he struggled with the fact that he no longer had an inner connection to Catherine. He could not feel what she was feeling and whether she had already found a way to come down. From Jacob he knew that he was not here and that something was bothering him. But nothing more, because with his leaving the tunnels the connection to his son had also become thinner. It was still there, but Vincent knew that Jacob consciously closed things from him, to which he could not reach him. He heard footsteps and was torn from his thoughts. The door to the shaft had opened and in the twilight, he recognized the slender figure of the woman he loved. She approached him purposefully and grabbed him shyly by the arm.

"We don't have much time," she said. "I used the minute when Vicky was down for a moment. If she finds out that I have left the apartment in between, she will certainly ask questions."

Vincent nodded understandingly. "Have you heard from Jacob?"

"No. His boss was there this morning. It's about the case he last worked on when he was in Berlin."

Vincent nodded to Catherine's remarks. "That's what I thought."

Catherine looked at him confused. "Did you feel it?"

He shook his head. "A message came from a helper into the tunnels. She works in the museums."

Catherine sensed that Vincent had something important to say to her. "Yes?"

"A museum director was murdered," Vincent continued. "That's probably why Jacobs' boss showed up."

Catherine nodded slowly, then looked at Vincent carefully. She felt his tension. "That's not all, is it?"

Now Vincent nodded thoughtfully. Restlessly he began to walk up and down. "Can you still remember the picture of us?"

"You mean this artist who pretended to be dead," Catherine replied. "Kristopher Gentian."

Vincent nodded again. "Or who is actually dead." He waved off Catherine's objection. "That's not the point either. Post arrived in the tunnels this morning. A role with a sketch in it."

Now Catherine nodded understandingly. "With a sketch showing both of us as in the painting," she said.

Vincent stopped as if moved by thunder and looked at her in amazement. "How do you know?"

_**New York; Museum of Modern Art; Rebekka Rose, Jake (Jacob)**_

Rebekka Rose stood in front of the museum stunned. The building was closed. She had showered in the hotel and dressed chicly. For the interview with Simon Mallory she really wanted to look good and now this. The entrance to the museum was surrounded by journalists who were held back by the police. What was going on here?

"Say, what happened here," she asked one of the journalists.

"Oh, there was a murder," he replied willingly.

Rebekka felt a déjà vu approaching. That could not be. She took a few steps back. What should she do now? After all, she had had an appointment, but probably the director now had completely different things on his mind than to hire a new assistant. She took her phone out of her pocket. As a precaution she had saved the number of the secretary with whom she had arranged the appointment for the interview. She dialed and let it ring a few times. She was about to give up when the call was finally accepted.

"Hello, who is there," someone asked harshly into the receiver.

Disconcerted, Rebekka began to stammer. "Um..., so my name is Rebekka Rose. I have an appointment with Simon Mallory."

"Becka, is that you?"

"Jake?" she asked irritated.

"Yes."

She heard a moan, then: "Where are you?"

"Um, I'm standing down in front of the museum and I'm not coming..." That's all she could say.

"I'll pick you up downstairs," he said only briefly tied and hung up.

More than just worried, Rebekka put the phone back in her pocket. Slowly she approached the entrance and looked around looking for Jake. She would have loved to run away. Finally, he showed up and saw her immediately. He waved her energetically to him, and she was let through the barrier by the police.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

Instead of an answer, Jake looked at her grimly and then pulled her by the elbow.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Victoria Thompson, Jake (Jacob), Vincent**_

"I don't understand this. The substitute should have been there long ago." Victoria Thompson walked restlessly around the apartment.

Catherine perceived it only marginally. She was glad that Victoria had been distracted enough to come back to the apartment unnoticed. As she understood it, Jake was to be replaced by an FBI man who shared with Vicky the task of protecting her. Jacob wasn't back yet. The evening dawned. Catherine wondered if she should ask Vicky for Jake's cell phone number, but rejected the idea again. The FBI agent might get suspicious. Only when it got dark did the door go and Jacob came.

Vicky looked at him questioningly. "Does that mean you're staying here overnight now?" she asked.

Jake looked at her ironically. "Where else am I supposed to stay the night? After all, I live here at the moment."

"Could have been that you found another bed," Vicky pointedly said.

Catherine rose from the couch and watched Jake closely. He seemed unfocused and angry.

"Where is your new partner?" he asked Vicky.

"You mean the one who was supposed to replace you?"

He nodded.

"So far nobody has shown up here. I thought you knew that and that's why you came here."

Annoyed, Jacob looked at Vicky. "I came here because I live here and..."

"Why don't you take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes," Catherine interrupted the dispute.

Jacob nodded to her gratefully.

"Should I stay here?" Vicky asked.

Jacob hesitated only briefly and then said ironically: "Until I'm done showering". A sideways glance at Catherine made her understand that he didn't want to take the risk again that she just disappeared from the apartment.

After the shower, Jake hung on the phone to call his boss.

"Are you hungry?" Catherine asked him before.

Confused, he said no because he had had lunch with Gerry Fisher in the afternoon. The situation was more than unusual, and he didn't know how to handle it. He had never had a mother who cared for him and asked if he wanted anything to eat. Now, at thirty, he felt overwhelmed.

"Hello Gerry," he spoke into the receiver when his boss answered. "I'm here at the apartment, but your replacement still hasn't shown up. You had promised me..."

He listened while Catherine heard a knock from the balcony. Vincent. She hurriedly opened the balcony door and stepped out. Wrapped in his cape, Vincent stood in front of her.

"Could you talk to him yet?" he asked.

Catherine shook her head. "He hasn't been here long." She looked around at her son and then closed the balcony door from the outside so they wouldn't interfere with his phone call. "Unfortunately, I don't know what he did today, but in his mood it was not a good day. Except for the morning," she added.

"What do you mean?" Vincent asked immediately.

Uneasily, Catherine pulled her shoulders up. What should she tell Vincent? What did he know about his son's life in the world?

"Catherine? What was this morning?" Vincent remained persistent.

Catherine gave herself a jolt. "Well, when I came back to the apartment this morning, he wasn't alone."

Vincent kept looking at her questioningly, and she told him about her encounter with Rebekka Rose, whom she knew from Berlin.

Vincent hesitated and considered. "That throws a whole new light on the matter," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Catherine.

He swayed his head thoughtfully. "In both murders, in Berlin as well as in New York, this woman was nearby. Do you think this is coincidence?"

Catherine nodded anxiously. At that moment the balcony door was pushed open from the inside. Jake found his parents in a half hug, and somehow there was nothing unusual about it. "I don't want to disturb you for long, but I have bad news," he started.

"We also have to talk to you," Vincent replied seriously. "It's about your case."

Curious, Jake looked at his parents. "But..." he objected.

Catherine interrupted him. "We know what was in that safe in Simon Mallory's office."

Amazed, Jake looked at both of them. "But how..." he groaned.

Vincent handed him the cardboard roll with the sketch and waited until his son had taken the drawing out and unrolled it.

Shocked, he looked up. "That doesn't exist. Where did you get that from?"

"It was this morning coming from above. It was sent into the tunnels without a sender," Vincent informed him.

"Then..., there's someone behind it who knows you," Jacob thought.

"Someone who knows us both," Catherine corrected.

Jake sat down on one of the balcony chairs and stared at the sketch. "But then this murder has nothing to do with the art forgery thing and the murder in Berlin."

"Maybe so," Catherine replied, disappearing into the apartment without another word.

Vincent looked attentively at his son. "You weren't alone last night?"

"Pa!" Outraged, Jacob looked up at him. "That does not concern you..."

"I know, but the woman you were with..."

"Pa, this is a bad subject." Jake glared at his father angrily. "Besides, she shouldn't tell you that. That is..."

"...just worry about you," Vincent straightened out.

_**New York; Hilton Hotel; Rebekka Rose **_

Rebekka Rose sat in the room of her hotel and waited. The day had turned out differently than she had hoped. There was nothing left of the exhilaration of the morning when she woke up in Jake's arms. She had known when she came to New York. Better said, she has felt it. She hadn't really expected that she of all people would be invited to a job interview in New York. Nor that the flight and hotel had already been paid for. She should have become suspicious. Especially after the events in Berlin. But there was this desire to achieve more in life than just being any boss's assistent. She wanted more for herself. And now everything about her collapsed.

It had already begun when she had arrived in New York and found a message. She had followed the instructions properly and then visited Jake. This morning she had got ready for her appointment with Simon Mallory and had taken a cab. The events at the museum had given her the rest. She was at the end of her nerves. Jake didn't seem to know her anymore, although he had introduced her to his superior as an acquaintance. The subsequent interrogation had been an ordeal. She was supposed to answer questions she couldn't answer. All she wanted was a new job. Now she was sitting here in the hotel room, and it was clear to her that the matter was not over yet.

She would have liked to have sat down immediately on the next plane and would have flown back to Germany, but as she had understood it, she was not just allowed to leave the country now. It knocked loudly.

Rebekka drove up from the couch in shock and looked anxiously at the door.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Jake (Jacob), Vincent**_

Jake stared out at the city, unable to say anything. And he didn't want to say anything either. How could he explain to his father how life in the world was outside?

"Pa, I..."

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," Vincent interrupted him.

At that moment Catherine came back. Relieved, Jake looked up. She handed him a rolled up sketch. He looked at her questioningly.

"Look at it," she just said.

With her meaningful look, he was almost afraid to roll the sheet apart. When he did, he held his breath in surprise. "Where did you get that from?" he asked and in the same breath took the other sketch and held it beside it.

"Not here from New York," Catherine replied. "I received it from Dr. Lau. The museum director in Berlin. Shortly after he gave me the sketch, he was murdered. But you know that."

"That doesn't make any sense," Jake said and looked at his parents. "Did you know about these sketches?"

Both shook their heads in agreement. Catherine cleared her throat. "Back then, 30 years ago, after the exhibition of Kristopher Gentian's works that I had organized, I only got the oil painting. How much do you know about what happened then?"

"He knows everything," Vincent said before his son could answer. "I told him the whole story about how the oil painting of us came about."

Catherine nodded. "Then you know that Kristopher Gentian had made a sketch of me sitting with him in this café for artists."

"Or with his ghost," Vincent objected.

Catherine looked at him sharply from the side. "A ghost of whom 34 pictures appeared in the years that followed."

"Or were found," Vincent replied again. "Catherine, what happened back then we couldn't explain, and it's never been explained to this day."

"You know, I don't believe in ghosts," she objected again.

"It doesn't matter whether you believe in them or not," Vincent said.

Jake watched his parents' conversation with fascination. Was it always like this?

"No ghost can make a sketch, let alone paint a picture," said Catherine.

"And then send it into the tunnels," Jake now added. With it he brought his parents back to him.

Catherine looked seriously at her son. "Jacob, what did Mrs. Rose tell you about why she's here?"

Tense, Jake wiped his face. He couldn't keep quiet about the new facts. "She said she had an interview with the museum director who was murdered today."

"Do you believe her?" Catherine continued.

"I know it's true," Jake replied, telling the whole story of Rebekka, appearance at the museum today. "We interrogated them, Gerry and I," he reported. "She seemed shocked by the death of Simon Mallory. I then brought her back to her hotel. The strange thing is..." He hesitated. "She said the hotel had been booked by Simon Mallory. But why the Hilton for an applicant who only imagines herself for an assistant post."

"I'm sure she knows more," Catherine said. "I know Dr. Lau didn't trust her. I always made most of my appointments and arrangements with him directly when I was in Berlin."

"There must be a connection between the two men," Vincent noted.

"Or the two museums," Jake thought. He looked at his mother openly. "I guess I need your help to get light on this case."

She nodded. "You can count on me." She knew that it was not easy for him to ask her for help. It was a first step, so she hoped that one day he would trust her after all. Vincent pressed her hand encouragingly. He understood what moved her.

_**New York; Police Department; Gerry Fisher, Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Dick Spencer (criminal expert)**_

Jake had arranged to meet Gerry at the police department the next morning. Officially, he wanted to contact the German police who were working on the murder in Berlin. Of course, he couldn't say anything about the two sketches his father was depicted on in all his difference.

"Good morning, Jake. How are you," Gerry Fisher greeted him.

"Good. Is there anything new about the replacement who's supposed to guard Mrs. Chandler?" Jake asked his boss.

"Well, I asked again where he was. This is all going well," Gerry said confidently.

Jake nodded absently. He would take care of that later. "You wanted to discuss with the police the evaluation of the museum's surveillance cameras."

"Dick Spencer my name," they were greeted by a stocky criminal expert. "You're the FBI's two, aren't you?"

Gerry Fisher confirmed the suspicion.

"Well. It's relatively easy with the surveillance cameras. From the main entrance everything was recorded yesterday morning, but there's nothing out of the ordinary on it."

"And from the back door that Simon Mallory used," Jake asked.

"Well, that camera was out of order," said Dick Spencer.

"What!" called Jake.

Dick Spencer nodded again confirming. "Already for several days. And Simon Mallory knew that," he added.

"Then he consciously took this entrance because he didn't want to be watched," said Gerry Fisher. "Is there anything else new?"

Dick Spencer shook his head. "No. Here are the contact details of the authorities in Germany who are dealing with the director's murder case in Berlin." He handed Gerry a note.

"Commissioner Keller", he read off the note. "How good is your German?" he asked Jake.

"Not particularly, but you can speak English very well with them. Maybe we should call in the FBI contact there, James Madison," said Jake. "He had helped me when I was in Berlin. I thought he was still on the case."

"Mmh," Gerry said vaguely. "I will call there. Where can I make undisturbed phone calls?" He looked at Dick Spencer questioningly.

Jacob frowned irritated. He felt somehow excluded when his boss disappeared into an adjacent office.

"Didn't the forensic investigation reveal anything?" he asked Dick Spencer.

He shook his head. "The guy was wearing gloves and seems to have been very careful. That was a professional. But something made me wonder," he said. "We also evaluated the camera records from the previous day, and you can see that Simon Mallory met a young woman in the museum."

Now Jake was listening.

_**New York; Hilton Hotel; Catherine, Victoria Thompson, Rebecca Rose **_

Meanwhile, Catherine was worried about other things. Jacob had gone to a meeting with his supervisor in the morning after Victoria Thompson had appeared to relieve the guard.

"I want to go to the Hilton Hotel," addressed Catherine Vicky. "And I want you to come with me."

Vicky became curious about the determination Cathy was showing today.

"Maybe you should tell me something in advance," she asked.

Catherine waved off. "I'll explain later."

The two women drove to the Hilton. Catherine inquired at the reception about Rebekka Rose, which Vicky tacitly noted. They took the elevator to the fourth floor and knocked on the room door. Silence. Catherine looked at Vicky seriously and knocked again.

"Miss Rose. Are you there," Catherine shouted loudly enough that it had to be hear through the closed door.

Suddenly they heard footsteps in the room. The lock on the door was unlocked and the door was ripped open.

"Thank God," Rebekka Rose said. "It is you."

She let Catherine and Victoria Thompson into the room. Behind them she locked the door again.

"What about you" asked Vicky. "What are you afraid of?"

Rebekka stood in front of the other two women, completely disbanded. "I thought it was the police," she stammered.

"Why should the police come here?" asked Catherine and looked around.

The room was in semi-darkness. The curtains were closed. On the sides, daylight streamed in weakly through the windows.

"And why did you lock your door?" Vicky continued now.

"I don't know ...," Rebekka Rose stammered on. "I mean, yesterday... did Jake tell you about it?"

"Not much," Catherine replied.

"I don't know anything," Vicky noted indignantly. "You're welcome to keep me up to date."

Catherine put her bag down and grabbed Rebekka by the shoulders. "Sit down first." She gently pushed the young woman to the couch.

Rebekka was willingly persuaded to sit down. Catherine sat down with her, while Vicky stood demonstratively.

The young woman tried to calm down. "Well, I... the police suspect me of having something to do with Mr. Mallory's murder."

"Jacob told me that you were at the museum yesterday and were questioned," Catherine helped her further.

Victoria Thompson frowned, but waited quietly for further explanations.

"I just wanted to introduce myself as an assistant," Rebekka reported. "I applied months ago."

"Did you have high hopes for this job?" asked Catherine.

Rebekka shrugged her shoulders insecurely. "Not really. To be honest, I had already written it off because there was no answer for months."

"Did Dr. Lau know that you had applied in New York," the older woman went after it.

Rebekka shook her head. "No. Of course, we had once talked about the opportunities that other museums around the world offer, but ... ", she broke off.

Catherine looked at the young woman thoughtfully. Meanwhile Vicky looked around the room curiously.

"You had visitors," she said coolly, pointing to the ashtray in which several cigarette butts were lying. "Or have you started smoking since yesterday morning?"

"Oh, no," stammered Rebekka again. She looked Catherine in the face. "It's just, last night that other man from the FBI was there."

"What other man?" asked Vicky and Catherine like out of one mouth.

"Who was at the museum with Jake yesterday."

"What did he want from you?" asked Catherine.

"He was... he was pretty arrogant. I should tell him everything I know, otherwise he would put me in prison. He was very intimidating."

"Hm," Vicky said. "So you didn't tell him anything else."

"Of course not," Rebekka replied immediately. Then she looked anxiously at Catherine. "Mrs. Chandler?"

"Yes." Catherine looked at the younger woman.

"Maybe you can talk to Jake. I don't know, but I feel like he thinks I'm guilty, too."

"Why do you think that?" asked Catherine.

"He didn't talk to me much yesterday."

"Why would he think you're guilty if you're not guilty?" Catherine asked.

"I don't know. It could be." Uncertain, Rebekka looked at the two women.

"You couldn't have killed Simon Mallory," Vicky said. "At that time you were undoubtedly in Mrs. Chandler's apartment. We can both confirm that, and so can Jake."

Rebekka nodded relieved. "Yes, that's true. But maybe..." She looked at Catherine, begging her. "Maybe you can put in a good word for me. Your son means a lot to me".

Catherine was silent and thought.

"Say", Vicky interrupted the silence. "How did you know where to find Mr. Chandler? Who gave you the address?"

"Well," Rebekka said, "that was still in Berlin. When I got the invitation to come to New York, I immediately thought about seeing Jake again." She hesitated for a moment and then continued. "So I asked at the embassy about his colleague with whom he was working on the case."

"An FBI agent," Vicky said.

Rebekka nodded. "James Madison. He had understanding for me and..., please don't make trouble for him. I promised him that."

Victoria Thompson nodded grimly to it. "Let's see."

"What are you going to do now" asked Catherine.

Rebekka seemed helpless. "I was told not to leave the country for the time being. Until my role in the case is cleared up." She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "So I sit here in this room. It was booked for a week, and I don't know where else to go."

Catherine nodded understandingly. "Give the investigators some time. In your case, that should clear up quickly."

"But this guy from last night," Rebekka objected. "He was so determined and very aggressive."

"Give me your phone number," said Catherine. "We keep in touch on how things are going."

Rebekka willingly gave her number to the older woman. Then the women said goodbye to each other.

Outside in the hallway, Catherine and Vicky walked towards the elevator.

"I don't know," Vicky said, "but there's something wrong with this story."

"I don't think she lied," Catherine replied. "She probably forgot one or two details of the story."

"Or left out," Vicky pointedly said.

Together they took the elevator down.

_**New York; Police Department; Gerry Fisher, Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

"The police in Germany are groping in the dark", Gerry Fisher summarized the telephone conversation with the German colleagues in Berlin. "What about this woman you know from yesterday? Don't you find it strange that she appears here at the very time when the next museum director is being murdered?" It was not without reason that Gerry Fisher asked so persistently. Something was wrong here. Wouldn't the German authorities find out anything either? He would prove that the FBI was better.

"She had an interview. That's what she said." Jake seemed irritable.

"But she wouldn't say where she was yesterday morning. Not in her hotel room, anyway. I had that checked," Gerry Fisher replied. "I bet she's the key to solving the case."

Jacob felt himself in a predicament. On the one hand by his boss's suspicions, on the other hand by the news he had learned from Dick Spencer. He wanted to get Becka out of the line of fire. Because although the time of her appearance seemed suspicious with the murder of Simon Mallory, he was sure that she had nothing to do with it. "Gerry. You increase into something. Mrs. Rose has nothing to do with the murder of Simon Mallory."

"Where do you get this security from?" asked his boss.

"She was with me yesterday morning and the night before." So now the bomb was out.

"Oh." Gerry Fisher seemed to be speechless.

Jake sighed, "I know I should have told you that right away. So if you're still seriously suspicious of Mrs. Rose, you'd have to take me off the case because I'm no doubt not impartial."

Gerry Fisher grinded his teeth.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Jamie, Marjorie Brooks**_

Marjorie Brooks was a small woman in her mid-forties with dark curly hair and an alert, attentive look from grey eyes. Marjorie lived alone in Big Apple and worked in administration for the New York museums. She was not married. Not anymore. By her mid-twenties, she had fallen in love with a tall, handsome Harvard graduate who had come to New York to make a career on the stock market. But the fire was quickly extinguished between them. His great love was his career and professional success. She could not compete with that in the long run. Disappointed by this episode she had nursed her sick parents until their death. Through her parents she also knew the tunnels. Her father had been a helper for a long time and had supported the people in the underground. Marjorie continued it now. That and her work filled her life. It was enough.

She had found the message in front of her apartment door. Vincent wanted to talk to her. It certainly had something to do with the murder of Simon Mallory. She had immediately sent the message into the tunnels because she knew that Vincent's son had been involved in the investigation. It had been such a feeling that it could be important. The message confirmed it to her. It had to be important. Although she wasn't sure what Vincent wanted from her now.

She took the afternoon off and went to the agreed meeting place. An old warehouse with a large basement from which a corridor led to the tunnels. Before entering the run-down warehouse, she looked around carefully. It was important that no one became aware of this access. This was the only way to keep the people down there safe. Everything was full of dirt and dust. She went down the stairs to the basement, where Vincent was already waiting for her. Jamie was with him, which made life easier for Marjorie. Although she had known Vincent for a long time, she always felt biased in his presence. Of course, it had to do with his appearance, which embarrassed her and she hoped no one would notice. And with his size and charisma that intimidated her.

"Marjorie," Vincent approached her kindly. He knew of Marjorie's anxiety towards him. That's why he had asked Jamie to come with him. "Thank you for coming."

"You wanted to speak to me." Marjorie looked questioningly at the strange face above her.

"Yes," Vincent replied. "I am very grateful to you for passing on the news of the murder to us."

"I thought that..." she began.

"Yes," Vincent interrupted. "It is indeed important. Did you hear anything about the investigation?"

"Not much. The police are still on the scene investigating everything. And, of course, Mr. Mallory's closest associates are questioned. The FBI is on the case."

"I know," Vincent replied. "Jacob's in."

"Then he should be able to tell you much better how far the investigation is going," Marjorie said.

Vincent shook his head. "He can't be with Catherine for her protection, because of the case." He looked seriously at her. "Marjorie, you have to help me."

"But how could I help you?" she asked.

"Something was stolen from the safe in this murder."

"Yes, but the police are still in the dark about what it was," Marjorie reported.

"Yesterday a sketch was also sent into the tunnels. I believe that this sketch was in the safe. A sketch by Kristopher Gentian." Vincent paid close attention to Marjorie's reaction.

"But... what makes you so sure," Marjorie asked.

Jamie, too, had been listening. "What's shown on this sketch?"

Vincent hesitated. He needed help, but didn't want to unnecessarily put uninvolved people in danger. "Marjorie, the director of the museum obviously knew about this sketch and someone else knows about it too."

"The one who murdered Simon Mallory," Jamie concluded.

Marjorie looked anxiously from one to the other.

Vincent was thoughtfully swaying his head. "It's a pencil sketch by Catherine and me."

"Then it must be someone from the tunnels or a helper," Jamie exclaimed.

Marjorie was silent. Vincent waited and looked at the woman in front of him.

"I..., I have to go back to work," stammered Marjorie. "I'm sorry I can't help you." She hurried away.

Afterwards Vincent and Jamie silently went back to their chambers.

"She is hiding something," Jamie said.

"Yes," Vincent replied, "but maybe it doesn't matter either."

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Jake (Jacob), Victoria Thompson, Vincent**_

Jake didn't get to the apartment until dark. He had had to organize a lot. Gerry Fisher hadn't taken him off the case. Quite the opposite. He was now deeper into it than ever. When he unlocked the door and entered the apartment, he heard Victoria Thompson talking to his mother in the kitchen. The two women seemed to get along well, which calmed him down somehow.

„You look exhausted," Vicky greeted him. She looked at him thoughtfully.

Catherine followed her from the kitchen. "Hello, Jacob."

Jake made a grimace of his face. "I know what I look like. I had a bad day today."

The women watched him curiously as he looked around the apartment. "Where's the substitute?"

"He still didn't show up," Vicky replied. "I have already asked the colleagues in Washington. They said they would send someone as soon as possible."

"Then we have a problem," Jake said.

"Why?" Catherine looked intently at her son. "What's going on? Is it about the case?"

Jake nodded grimly. "I'm supposed to fly to Berlin tomorrow and pick up the trail I followed."

Catherine frowned. "You mean because of the fake pictures."

Jake nodded and tore his tie off his neck impatiently. "The German investigators have already told us by telephone that there is nothing new. Nor about the murder of the German museum director in Berlin. But Gerry, my boss, thinks I should definitely take a close look at everything there."

Catherine bit her lip thoughtfully.

Vicky thought pragmatically. So from tomorrow onwards you will fall away as a night watch for your mother."

Jake nodded and let himself fall onto the sofa exhausted. "Gerry had assured me that he had taken care of the replacement."

"I'll stay here while you're gone," Vicky assured immediately. "Regardless of why they need so much time in Washington, I don't mind staying here in the apartment. I hope you don't mind either," she turned to Catherine.

At first it looked as if Catherine wanted to contradict. Then she remembered and just shook her head. "Of course not."

Jake nodded in agreement and looked at his colleague respectfully and gratefully. "That's very kind of you."

"Why don't you call me Vicky? I think that given the complications and the current situation, we can save ourselves the formalities."

"Okay, Vicky. All right. I'll accept the offer." They looked at each other consensually for a moment, which Catherine noted with interest.

"You can count on me," Vicky assured him again. "Considering the fact that I'll have to pack a suitcase at home, I'd rather drive now. When should I be here tomorrow morning?"

"I have to leave around eight o'clock," Jake replied. "Please be there then."

They said goodbye to each other. When Catherine closed the door behind Vicky, Jake had already disappeared in the bathroom. All right, she thought. Then they would talk later.

Meanwhile Vincent knew the way to the balcony. It was so familiar and joyful expectation fulfilled him. What a feeling. It had been the same before, when he had made his way to Catherine's balcony. Now the joy and confidence had increased to infinity at the thought of seeing her again so soon. What a miracle had been given to him after all this time. Deep gratitude and deep peace filled his heart. He found the door locked, but the light was shining weakly from within. Carefully he looked inside through the windows, and what he saw touched something deep within him. On the sofa Catherine and Jacob sat and talked to each other. Vincent watched Catherine write something on a notepad as she apparently explained something to Jacob. They sat close together, and Jacob listened attentively to his mother. Nothing was left to feel of his detachment. It was a picture of intimacy between mother and son, and Vincent's throat was closed with emotion. He waited patiently, didn't want to destroy the moment and give the two people he loved so much the opportunity to get to know and understand each other better. It was a dream come true, and it wasn't until Jacob got up and went into the kitchen that Vincent dared to knock on the balcony door. Catherine heard him immediately. She stood up and opened the balcony door with a smile on her lips. She was happy. Her eyes were shining and he could feel it. But that couldn't be. Confused, Vincent shook his head for a moment.

"Hello," Catherine said quietly. "We've been waiting for you." She looked around to Jacob, who just came back with a bottle of mineral water.

"Hello Pa," his son greeted him and drank a sip.

"Don't you want to come in to us?" Asking, Catherine looked at him. "It's warm there." She took his two hands in hers.

"I saw you," Vincent replied. "What were you talking about?"

"It's about the case," Catherine replied. "Come in, and then we can tell you everything."

Vincent looked into the glow of her eyes and the smile on her lips melted any restraint as he led by Catherine stepped into the living room.

An hour later, Vincent's composure had given way to a new concern. "If Jacob isn't with you, you're not safe," he told Catherine.

She tried to object. "He has to solve the case, and he can do that best in Germany. The contact I told him will help him."

"But who will protect you?" Vincent walked around the room upset.

"Pa, downstairs FBI men are keeping watch and otherwise Mrs. Thompson will take care of Mom. She's really good. You can trust her." Jake tried to calm his father down.

Catherine got up from the sofa and stopped Vincent in his restless gait. "Vincent, nothing will happen to me. Probably Jacob will only be gone for a few days."

Thoughtfully, Jake looked at his parents. "Why don't you come with me" he asked his mother suddenly. "We would visit the people together. You would be with me the whole time. I could work on the case and take care of you at the same time."

Vincent and Catherine looked at each other silently for a moment.

"It would be a possibility," Vincent said.

"No." Catherine's voice sounded unusually hard. "No," she repeated. She looked from one to the other. "No," she said again more gently. "I will not leave this city again." She looked Vincent deep into the eyes. "I will not leave you again."

He nodded and understood. "But how am I supposed to take care of your safety?"

"Maybe we have to start trusting that everything will be all right this time." Catherine gave him a timid smile.

Jake thoughtfully watched his parents. "I'll hurry."

_**Berlin; American Embassy; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Samuel Henderson**_

Arriving in Germany Jake wasn't so sure anymore if it would go really fast. His flight had been delayed. He would stay in the same hotel as the first time. He took a rental car from the airport and drove directly to the American embassy.

At the reception he came straight to the point. "Good afternoon, I'd like to see James Madison," he greeted the lady behind the counter.

"Are you registered?"

"No," Jake replied, "I tried to reach Mr. Madison yesterday. Unfortunately without success, but..."

He was interrupted. "I'm sorry," the lady replied immediately, "but Mr. Madison no longer works here."

"I beg your pardon. He's like me at the FBI, and we worked here together a few weeks ago," Jake objected in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist said again, "but I can't give you any more information." Demonstratively, she turned to her computer.

Jake gritted his teeth. He turned around and found himself facing a tall colored man he knew. The head of security. Jake thought briefly. His name was Samuel Henderson.

He opened his mouth to say something when Henderson started. "You want to talk to your colleague?"

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. "Right. Do you know where I can reach him?"

"You have to ask your people at the FBI," Henderson replied. "He was ordered back home to the States. I don't know why."

Jake shook his head resignedly. He had relied on Madison's support.

"Didn't you announce your visit?" Samuel Henderson asked.

"But by email," Jake murmured to himself. His thoughts were concerned with the words of his mother.

"You have to be careful. There's a leak in the embassy in Berlin that betrayed me. I'm sure of it." Those were her words.

"Would you like to make a phone call from here?" Henderson asked.

"Compared to our last meeting, you are surprisingly helpful now," Jake said sarcastically.

"At the time, my main interest was in protecting Mrs. Jessica Burton. I have nothing against you personally," Henderson replied.

Jake looked intently at the African American in the suit. Did he know his mother's true identity? And about his? "You had a mission to protect Mrs. Burton?"

Suddenly, Henderson's gaze became alert and distant. "Are you still after her? I can assure you that you won't hear from me."

Jake nodded just as vigilantly. He shortly shook hands with Henderson. "If I need any more help, I'll get back to you."

So he disappeared straight through the door. He didn't notice the thoughtful look in his back.

_**Berlin; Hotel; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Gerry Fisher**_

"Yes, hello, Gerry." Jake spoke loudly into the receiver as if he wanted to use his voice to cross the Atlantic so Gerry Fisher could understand him better. "My contact was apparently transferred. What am I supposed to do now?"

"I didn't know anything about that," his boss replied. "That's probably just an unfortunate overlap. You told me you had a contact person named by Mrs. Chandler. Try to find something out on your own."

"You don't want me to get someone else here from the FBI?" Jake pursed his lips.

"This is taking way too long. And he doesn't even know what it's about. You're doing it, Jake." Gerry Fisher hung up on that.

Jake thoughtfully hung up the phone in the hotel room. Something stank to heaven here. He took his suitcase, which he hadn't yet unpacked, and disappeared outside.

_**Berlin; apartment in Berlin center; Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

His mother had given him the address. From his hotel he walked a few streets away. Then he took a cab. The car stopped a few yards from the address. Jake paid and got out. He walked on the sidewalk and looked at the house numbers of the houses for orientation. He stopped in front of the house he was looking for. He tilted his head back and looked up at the building. A grey façade that sank perfectly into the monotony of the houses. Most of the houses here were not built as high as in New York. Jake carefully searched for the key in his pocket and headed for the front door. He fitted and Jake entered a dark hallway from where the stairs led up. Slowly he climbed up the stairs and unlocked the apartment door. He pressed the light switch and felt a strange shyness inside him. Carefully he walked from the hallway into the living room. Towards the bedroom he saw blood stains on the floor. They must have been from the guy his mother shot. She had asked Henderson to take care of it. Whether he had survived, she didn't know. Jake wasn't sure if he could trust Henderson. His mother obviously did. Thoughtfully, Jake looked at the furniture. The closets, the bed and the complete furniture. Nothing suggested who had lived here for the past ten years. And yet he could feel her. He stood in the bedroom and opened the closet. She had left Berlin in a hurry, so some of her clothes were still here. Jacob felt her. Maybe it was because of his extraordinary perception, which he had inherited from his father. But maybe it was also due to her silent presence in these rooms. She had lived and hid here for so many years. Alone. Yes, she had worked for the American Embassy and for museums and built the façade of the independent woman living alone. For a moment, Jake closed his eyes. And yes, he could also feel her loneliness in these rooms. He had to swallow hard. How could one endure this all these years? He would have liked to have called her in New York immediately, just to ask if she was all right. It was too risky. He knew that. He should not draw anyone's attention to where he was. He took off his shoes and loosened his tie. Tired, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. And while falling asleep he noticed the familiar scent of his mother.

_**New York; Catherine, Victoria Thompson**_

Catherine spent a quiet day with Victoria Thompson. The brunette FBI agent had arrived in the morning with a suitcase packed and had moved in with her. They had gone to the hospital and met Mara Biggs with her son Tyler. Gregory Biggs, Tyler's father, was on the mend. Catherine had helped free Tyler from the hands of a child trafficker gang. Jacob and Victoria had reluctantly supported her at first.

"We can't thank you enough," said Mara Biggs, hugging Catherine. "Without you we would never have seen our boy again."

"Well, I had help," Catherine said, embarrassed, pointing to Vicky.

They spent an hour in Gregory Biggs' hospital room and then said goodbye to each other.

"What do you want to do now" Victoria asked in the car.

Catherine seemed indecisive. She didn't really know what to do now. On the one hand, she was worried about her son. She hoped that he could get along in Berlin and that she had been able to give him enough information to solve the case. She herself knew that it was too risky to call him. He knew that too and would therefore not contact her. She had to trust that everything would go well. On the other hand, she had another problem. Victoria Thompson had practically moved in with her. How could she meet Vincent without Vicky noticing or becoming suspicious?

"You're very quiet and thoughtful," Vicky said. "Is it because of your son?"

Catherine smiled briefly at her. "Yes partly."

„And why else?" "And why else?" The FBI agent asked immediately.

Catherine only hesitated for a moment. "Vicky... there are things in my life I can't talk about."

Vicky aproned her lips. "This has nothing to do with the need to protect you from the drug mafia."

They were sitting in the car. Victoria Thompson drove. Catherine looked thoughtfully out of the side window.

"No," she just replied.

The FBI agent gave her a quick look from the side. "Might it have something to do with you leaving the apartment now and then without protection." Catherine didn't answer and Vicky continued. "I surprised you in the elevator a few days ago. That was when we..."

"I know when that was," Catherine interrupted. "Why don't you just drive me home now."

Victoria Thompson knew that Catherine wouldn't say more. Nevertheless, she had many questions. She also felt Catherine's restlessness. She left it at that. For the time being.

_**Berlin; apartment in Berlin center; Jake (Jacob)**_

Jake was dreaming. He dreamed of his mother and his father. Both walked hand in hand along Fifth Avenue. Every now and then a few people looked, but nobody stopped them. Nobody jumped at his father as if he were a wild animal. But suddenly the night fell. They were alone. Jake could watch them. They looked around. There were no more passers-by. They were surrounded by armed men in black suits. Jake wanted to help his parents, but he could not reach them. The men raised their weapons, aimed at Catherine and Vincent and fired. Jake woke up with an outcry.

It was early in the morning and Jake needed a moment to orient him. He was in Berlin in the apartment his mother had lived in for years under the name Jessica Burton. He laboriously rolled off his bed and stood up. He went to the bathroom. Water was running and there was electricity. Thoughtfully, he wondered why no one had yet taken care of this apartment. It was clear to him that if the worst came to the worst, he was not safe here either. But strangely enough he felt safe here. And he felt close to her. It was so strange. Never had he felt so close to his mother as in this apartment, where she had lived anonymously and unnoticed for so long. Nobody did this voluntarily unless there was something that meant so much that it was worth it.

He showered, dressed and cleaned up. He threw away the spoiled things from the fridge. He made a plan of what steps to take next. On the way he wanted to have some breakfast somewhere. When he left the apartment, he found a small note in front of the door. He picked it up and read it:

I saw that you were back.

Why don't you come up for a drink tonight?

David

Jake frowned confused. Was there anything his mother had forgotten to tell him? Who was this David?

_**Berlin; Jake (Jacob), Commissioner Keller**_

"Good afternoon, I'd like to see Commissioner Keller," Jacob said at the police station reception.

The friendly lady called him in. He didn't have to wait long, and then the main commissioner came around the corner. He seemed surprised.

"I had no idea you were back in Berlin," he began, shaking hands with Jake to greet him.

"Yes, it was very sudden," Jake said.

Keller looked around the entrance area of the police station. Then he grabbed Jake's arm and led him purposefully out. "Let's go somewhere else where we can talk undisturbed."

"But it's official," Jake objected. "I had hoped I would have some insight into your investigation."

"I know," Keller replied, "but what you really need to know, I can only tell you personally. Otherwise you will not know more than what we have told your colleagues in the States."

Astonished, Jake followed the Chief Commissioner to a bar where they were looking for a table in a secluded corner.

Keller pointed to the free space next to him. "Sit down," he told Jake. "Two coffees," he shouted to the waiter, then turned his attention to Jake.

He had become impatient in the meantime. "So what's the point? Surely it would have been better if I had registered, but..."

"That wouldn't have helped you either," Keller objected immediately. "You'd have been put off immediately on the phone and referred to the results of the investigation that we sent to the FBI."

"But why? Two days ago, we were told that you were in the dark on this case." Jake didn't know what to believe anymore.

"Because our investigation is almost complete, Mr. Chandler," Keller replied. "Chandler was your name, right?"

Jake nodded confirming. "But how can such a case suddenly be filed so quickly, unless you already have the killer?"

Keller nodded. "We seem to have them. We had found fingerprints that matched two men from the criminal milieu. Classic robbery murder. Done." Keller snapped his fingers. "We were able to arrest the men on the same day and..."

That went too fast for Jake. "When was that?"

"The day before yesterday," Keller replied. "I know we said we were in the dark."

Jake became ironic. "I bet the two men say they know nothing and they're innocent."

"Bingo," Keller said. "The stolen painting from the museum didn't show up, of course."

"Do you think it's possible that anyone would want to pin the murder of the local museum director, Dr. Lau, on the two men?" asked Jake, "I mean it would be a big coincidence if the murder of the director in New York and this one here had nothing to do with each other."

The waiter brought the coffee and both men were silent for a moment.

When the waiter was gone again, Keller nodded confirming. "Of course, it makes me suspicious, but you shouldn't make your suspicions so loud."

"Why not?" Jake asked in amazement. "It's obvious..."

Keller leaned forward and whispered. "Some big shot from our side is trying to make the case just nice and clean, without the hassle of an investigation. In response to my justified questions, I was told to keep my mouth shut if I wanted to avoid further trouble."

"But that stinks to heaven," it burst out of Jake.

Keller nodded confirming. "Of course it stinks, but my hands are tied. I can't do anything anymore. Nevertheless, I was surprised that you showed up here."

"Why?"

"I told your FBI colleague the other night that we had two men arrested and the case was closed," Keller replied.

"What colleague?" asked Jake.

"The one you were in the museum with when Dr. Lau was found dead."

"You mean James Madison?" Jake asked in disbelief.

"Right," Keller confirmed. "That's why I didn't expect anyone from the FBI anymore. He should have passed on the information."

"Yes," Jake said grimly. The coffee suddenly tasted bland.

"I'm sorry if I couldn't really help you now," Keller said.

Jake shook his head gruffly. He handed Keller a card with his cell phone number. "Can you do me a favor? If you find out anything else, give me a call. And please just me and no one else from the FBI." Jake looked at the German colleague intently.

He nodded. "I'll do it."

_**Berlin; studio of David Schmidt; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, David Schmidt**_

Jake was undecided afterwards, standing on the sidewalk. More than ever he had the feeling of being on his own. Who could he trust at all? Madison certainly didn't. He hadn't told Keller what he wanted to do. Jake took his mother's notes out of his pocket. D. Schmidt was the first port of call. Somewhere in the center of town. He used his smartphone as a navigation device and noticed that it was not far and that he could walk. A little later he looked up at the renovated factory building. The entrance was in the inner courtyard. Purposefully, Jake pressed the bell button.

A short crack in the intercom followed, then a voice. "Who's there?"

"I'd like to see Mr. D. Schmidt," Jake said into the system.

"Who is there?" asked the voice through the device.

"I come from the FBI," Jake continued.

But that didn't seem to impress anybody. "So what", it sounded.

"I..., I got your name and address from my mother. You know her as Mrs. Jessica Burton." Jake waited.

It only lasted a short moment and the door opener hummed. "Top floor," it squawked through the loudspeaker.

Surprised, Jake could push against the door just in time to slip in. At the top the door was already open and he stepped in carefully. He didn't know what to expect. There was no sign of a resident. Jake found himself in a huge room. It was obviously the top floor of a factory that had been converted into a studio. Paintings and canvases were everywhere on the walls. Big and small. In the middle of the room there was an easel. In front of it was a pedestal on which stood a chair. To the side of the pedestal was a door from which a middle-aged man stepped out. He was wearing a grey coat, stained with paint, over a white shirt and dark trousers. The two men looked at each other with interest.

"Well, Jessie's son," the man murmured.

Jake frowned irritated and wondered how familiar his mother had been with this man. "Yes, she gave me this address and said you could help me," he explained. "I'm working at the FBI investigating a fake artwork case and the murder of a museum director in New York."

"FBI, huh, huh," the man murmured. "And Jessie's son. This is really a surprise. I always knew that the good one had secrets."

Expectantly, Jake looked at the man. "So can you tell me anything about it?"

"Is this about the murder of Dr. Lau here in Berlin?" the man asked.

"Not officially," Jake replied, "but there's a strong suspicion that the two deaths are related."

Thoughtfully, the man nodded and shook Jake's hand. "My name is David. David Schmidt."

Astonished, Jake returned the handshake. "Are you the David from the note I found outside my mother's door this morning?"

David Schmidt nodded confirming. "Yes, I live in the same house on the top floor. I had seen the light last night and thought she was back."

"No," Jake replied, "I'm the only one there. My name is Jacob Chandler."

"So she's not coming back then?" the man asked.

Jake shook his head. "Why do you ask?"

"She has been away several times in recent years. That's why I didn't think about it at first. She always came back, but when she disappeared without a message, I already had a feeling that she wasn't coming back." The man looked Jake in the eye. "And she's not coming back, is she?"

Jake felt insecure under the man's gaze. His mother had apparently trusted him. "No", he confirmed, "she's not coming back."

"Is she all right?"

Jake nodded. "Yeah, she's fine."

David Schmidt seemed reassured. "That's good." He hesitated for a moment. "You know, I never thought it would take on such proportions. And that there are dead."

Curiously, Jacob looked at the man who, embarrassed, turned away and randomly pushed brushes back and forth onto a table. "Can you tell me anything about it? Do you know who is behind it?"

David Schmidt turned to him in shame and nodded. "It was me", he said then. "It is my fault."

"What?" asked Jake astonished. "What are you to blame for?"

"I faked the pictures." Now the man stood straight and upright in front of him.

"But..." began Jake.

"I am to blame for the death of two people," the artist murmured further.

"Wait a minute." Jake looked around searchingly. "Can we sit down here somewhere?"

Lost in thought, the painter nodded and stared ahead as he mechanically raised his arm and pointed to the door that led to another room.

"I was born and grew up in New York, but went to Berlin at a young age. That was in the nineties, shortly after the Wall fell and there was an atmosphere of optimism here". David Schmidt began to talk.

The room in which they sat was windowless and full of more pictures. Fortunately, there was also a small table and two chairs.

"As an artist, it's not easy to make ends meet. I got more and more into a debt circle. Then my uncle, a bookseller in New York, died. I was the last living relative. There were many books and lots of junk. But also old drawings and sketches of..."

"...Kristopher Gentian," Jake finished the sentence knowing.

"Then you know that my uncle had administered the estate of Kristopher Gentian." Jake nodded confirming and the artist waved off. "Oh yes, you are Jessie's son."

"What happened next" Jake asked.

"At first I couldn't do much with the sketches and just kept them. But then I had the idea to repaint the drawings and sell the paintings. I succeeded really well. Some I modified and sold as newly discovered works. Under the name Kristopher Gentian everything sold itself. But then..."

"...then the wrong people found out about your talent."

David Schmidt nodded. "Dealers came to me and realized that they were forgeries and they made demands. They wanted to share in the profits and they wanted more supplies of pictures. That was the time when I happened to meet a woman in the stairwell and thought I was hit by the blow. I recognized her immediately," the artist continued eagerly.

Jake had to smile involuntarily.

"I spoke to her," David Schmidt continued. "She was very reserved and careful and didn't trust me at first. Then I showed her the sketches I owned and on which she was depicted. It turned out that she knew her way around the art scene and I confided in her."

Jacob continued to listen spellbound to the story of how his mother, with the help of Dr. Lau from the Museum of Modern Art in Berlin and a colleague from the American Embassy, helped to take as many counterfeits out of circulation as possible. They were unable to find all the counterfeits that had been circulated.

"And the guys who put you under pressure?" Jake asked at the end.

"The big black guy from the embassy got they off my back," David Schmidt replied.

Jake involuntarily had Samuel Henderson's picture in front of his eyes. He believed that the head of security of the embassy would be able to get rid of unwanted characters. Something else occurred to him. "What happened to the original drawings and sketches?"

"Oh, I hid them well."

Doubtfully, Jake looked at him.

"Only your mother knows the hiding place," Schmidt admitted. "Actually, I wanted to leave them completely to her. She is an art expert and these are really original sketches by Gentian. But your mother said it wasn't safe with her."

"Still, sketches came into circulation," Jake argued.

Schmidt nodded. "Yes, I know. I was attacked. Probably one of the art dealers had put the guys on me. Fortunately, your mother and this colored guy from the embassy came along. Unfortunately the guys could escape with a few sketches. Dr. Lau then stretched out his antennae again to locate the stolen sketches and probably got hold of one. The other was gone. Probably it ended up with some lover who was willing to spend enough money on it. Just like the missing forgeries."

"Could it be that Dr. Lau was killed because of this sketch?" Jake asked himself more than his counterpart.

Murdered for an artist's sketch that brought in a lot of money. Just like Simon Mallory, who had a second sketch. But who else knew about it, Jake wondered?

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Victoria Thompson; Rebekka Rose**_

Victoria Thompson was worried. She felt excluded from Cathy and had the feeling she had gone too far with her questions. Had she crossed a line?

Catherine had retreated into a world she knew well. Alone and surrounded by strangers, she had often found comfort by fleeing to another world. Classical music was a key to immersing yourself in a world she had known well and where love, friendship, respect and respect governed everyday life.

Catherine didn't know when to see Vincent again. It had become evening. She had talked to Vicky only what was necessary and knew it was not fair to the FBI agent. Victoria Thompson just did her job.

Both women sat down together for dinner, which was silent at first.

"Vicky..."

"Cathy..."

They had started speaking at the same time and stopped just as abruptly.

"I'm sorry if I went too far with my questions this morning," Victoria Thompson began.

"It's all right," Catherine replied. "I know that my life raises more questions than answers. And you have to do your job after all."

"It's more than just a job," contradicted Vicky. "I don't want anything to happen to you. Not to mention that your son would kill me if I let that happen," she added ironically.

Catherine smiled involuntarily. She thought of the good relationship that was gradually developing between her and Jacob. "I guess you won't even leave me alone for an hour or two."

"You can forget about that," Vicky confirmed.

"Even if I tell you I won't be alone?" Catherine knew she risked a lot if she let Vicky in on her secrets so deeply.

She frowned briefly and thought for a moment. "Will you introduce me...," she hesitated for a moment, "...to him before?"

Catherine shook her head. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" the FBI agent asked immediately.

"Because..." Catherine struggled for words, "because it doesn't possible."

Vicky looked at the older one seriously. "Catherine, I can't do that. You want me to leave you alone knowing that you're with someone I haven't even seen yet."

Catherine nodded with a painful smile. "I know. I shouldn't have asked. Just forget it."

At that moment the doorbell rang. Vicky stood up and opened the door.

A security guard stood in front of the door. "Sorry to disturb you. The lady wanted to see you." With this he pointed to the woman next to him.

"Miss Rose," Catherine replied in surprise as she stepped up.

"Good evening Mrs. Chandler," Rebekka Rose greeted her, "I wanted to see you because I wanted you..." She looked nervously at the man from security.

"Come in first," said Catherine. "That's all right," she instructed the security guard.

While Rebekka Rose entered the apartment and let Catherine take off her coat, Vicky nodded briefly to the man and then closed the door.

"Would you like something to drink?" Catherine asked her guest.

"Water please," asked Rebekka Rose.

"I'll get it," Victoria Thompson offered and briefly disappeared into the kitchen.

"Did anything happen?" asked Catherine.

Rebekka Rose shook her head. "It's just..., I didn't tell you everything," burst it out of her.

Catherine smiled only briefly. "I almost guessed."

"Really? I thought..., well, it doesn't matter." Rebekka collected herself and searched for words. "I had arrived in New York the day before, before I came to see Jake."

Catherine nodded while Vicky came with glasses and water and put them on the table.

"I met Simon Mallory the day before he was murdered," Rebekka said calmly.

Vicky, who just poured in the water in the glasses, stopped moving. "I thought you came for an interview."

"Yes, actually I did. But Mr. Mallory had called me before in Germany. He did very mysteriously and said I had a very good chance of being an assistant and he would take care of the hotel. I should also bring him something from Berlin." Rebekka now seemed anxious again.

Catherine nodded knowing. "You were supposed to bring a sketch, weren't you?"

Rebekka nodded confirming. "Yes. It was deposited in a safe deposit box and was handed to me upon presentation of my ID."

"Did you look at the sketch?" Catherine asked tense.

"Of course not," Rebekka contradicted.

Vicky registered briefly that Catherine breathed a sigh of relief.

"Because of this sketch I was with Simon Mallory the day before the actual interview and handed it over to him," Rebekka Rose continued.

Catherine pursed her lips and looked sharply at her guest. "Is that really all?"

"That's really all. I had no idea he would be murdered the next day." Now Rebekkas voice overturned, while Catherine stared thoughtfully to herself.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Irritated by the course of the conversation, Vicky went to the door to open.

_**Berlin; residence of David Schmidt; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, David Schmidt, two burglars; Samuel Henderson, two employees of Samuel Henderson**_

"You'll see. It's just unbelievable." David Schmidt rushed up the stairs to his apartment, past Catherine's apartment. Passing by, Jake realized that the name Jessica Burton was still there. He hadn't even noticed that last night. Then he noticed that the door was open. Alarmed, he stopped. David Schmidt noticed that Jake was not following him further up to his apartment and turned around. Jake pulled out his gun and told the artist to be quiet. Carefully, he pushed open the door to his mother's apartment. In front of him, he saw a jumble of open drawers and open cabinets, the contents of which were spread over the living room floor. From the bedroom he heard noises. Jacob purposefully walked through the room.

"Hands up," he shouted, the weapon at the ready.

In front of him he saw two men rifling through the closets. The contents of his suitcase also lay scattered on the floor.

The two men looked at him in amazement, then in wait. Before Jake could ask any more questions, he got a shoe thrown to his head. Reflexively, he raised his hand to fend him off. At that moment the two men threw themselves at him. He was torn to the ground and was punched in the face, making him see stars for a moment. Dazed, he noticed that David Schmidt was trying to help him. But the artist was already lying next to him on the floor. Jake tried to stand up, but was prevented from doing so by a foot on his chest. Above him stood a mean, smiling guy pointing a gun at him. David Schmidt was held in check by the other guy.

"Where are the pictures?" asked the guy with the gun.

Jake breathed heavily. "What pictures?" he asked back.

"You know that very well," the guy replied. "The pictures were here. Where are they now?"

Jake didn't intend to tell the guys anything. "I don't know about any pictures."

A kick in the side made him gasp for air in pain.

"You can save yourself these games," the guy said gruffly and kicked again. Jake cringed in pain.

"Maybe this one can help us," said the other, pointing to David Schmidt.

He lay on the floor, his hands protecting his face. "I..., I don't know anything," he stammered helplessly.

"Let's see," said the guy with the gun and grabbed him by the collar.

At that moment the door to the apartment was pushed open with force. Samuel Henderson stormed in with two men. They aimed their weapons at the two guys. They had turned around in shock and had frozen in their movements.

"Don't move," the African American shouted. "Drop your weapons." When the guys didn't follow immediately, he screamed. "On the spot! Immediately!"

His two companions aimed at the heads of the guys, and there was no doubt that they would not hesitate to shoot.

Jake struggled to get up and saw the two men drop their weapons. He saw Samuel Henderson nodding at his companions, and they rudely tore the two guys around and handcuffed them.

"I have to say good timing," Jake said and held his side.

"Are you hurt?" Samuel Henderson asked.

"I'm afraid my ribs are broken," Jake said and saw David Schmidt get on his feet.

"Then you'd better see a doctor," Henderson said.

"May I ask why you showed up here so well," Jake asked.

"I had a suspicion that something was wrong when you were at the embassy yesterday asking about Madison," the head of security explained. "Also, the Museum of Modern Art was broken into last night. Nothing was stolen, but obviously the burglars were looking for something. I wanted to warn you at your hotel and found out that you hadn't stayed there, so I thought..."

"...that you'd find me here," Jake finished the sentence. "So you know that..."

"Yes," Henderson replied. "I know who Jessica Burton is, and I know who you are."

"What should we do with these guys," asked one of Henderson's men.

"We'll take them to the embassy and ask them a few questions." He turned to Jake. "And we'll get you a doctor."

Jake wanted to stop him, but felt a distinct pain in the side. Lost in thought, he saw the men being led away. Something was wrong, but he could not say exactly what it was. He drove with Henderson and his men to the embassy. David Schmidt also accompanied them. It then took until late in the evening until a doctor finally came to the embassy and examined Jake. As he had suspected, his ribs were broken. After the doctor examined him and advised him to lie as still as possible, Jake went to the room where Henderson interviewed the guys. He felt uncomfortable and at first thought it was the situation and his pain. But he felt that something was different. He listened into himself. Then he jumped startled.

"Mom", he shouted in panic.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Victoria Thompson; Rebekka Rose; James Madison, Vincent**_

When Vicky opened the door, she saw a man standing in front of her, with his badge identifying him as an FBI agent.

"I'm the backup," he just said.

"We hadn't expected that," Victoria Thompson said and let him in.

The man in the suit briefly looked around the room and registered the other two women on the couch. Even before Vicky could say anything more to him, the man pulled out his gun and aimed at her. Reflexively, the FBI agent could slap his arm aside. She wanted to follow up, but the man punched her fist in the face so that she went to the floor, dazed. Catherine and Rebekka jumped up in panic and looked at the scene in horror. The man took his gun and gave Vicky a slap to the temple that knocked her unconscious.

Catherine pushed Rebekka towards the bedroom. "Come on, run and hide."

At first Rebekka Rose stood rigidly in fear. Then she ran. Catherine turned to the man who was now pointing his gun at the unconscious Vicky. She took the heavy vase from the dresser and threw it bravely at the man. A shot was fired as the man drove around hit by the vase. Hectically, Catherine looked around for more objects.

"Leave it alone," the man said coldly and raised his gun. "It's too late."

As if by magic, the balcony door opened from the outside and an animal roar rang through the room. The man with the gun seemed frozen in terror and could only look at the eerie figure in front of him. A monster that jumped right in front of him and broke his arm with his paw. The weapon fell to the ground. Catherine also felt frozen. She watched as Vincent lifted the guy up and threw him against the wall with full force. He continued until the guy stopped moving. Only then did he pause as if he was coming back from a frenzy into reality. He turned to Catherine. For a moment their glances sank into each other.

"Are you all right?" Vincent asked.

She nodded dazed. "How did you know?" Stunned, she looked at him.

He shook his head uncertainly. "I don't know exactly. It was such a feeling."

Again they looked deep into each other's eyes.

"Vicky," Catherine called and ran over to the FBI agent. She was still unconscious. "She's hurt," Catherine said. "The shot hit her in the shoulder."

"Then call an ambulance," Vincent said.

Torn back and forth, Catherine looked up at him. She stood up and hugged him briefly.

"I'm going," Vincent whispered quietly. "Don't worry. See ya."

Catherine nodded and he disappeared.

Just in time, because at that moment Rebekka Rose was peering out the bedroom door. "I didn't hear anything anymore," she said quietly, "I thought..." She stopped and looked at the man who lay lifeless on the floor. She knew him. James Madison.

Catherine had already grabbed the phone and called an ambulance and the police. Only then did she turn her attention to Rebekka Rose. She was still staring pale with horror at the man, who was covered with blood.

"You're in trouble, Mrs. Rose," Catherine said seriously.

Rebekka raised both hands defensively upwards. "I didn't know any of this. That's what I told you."

"You appeared tonight as a diversion, didn't you," continued Catherine. "This man here worked for the FBI at the American embassy in Berlin. He organized for you to come to New York."

Horrified, Rebekka looked at the older woman in front of her. "How do you know..."

"He accompanied you on the flight and gave you the drawing as a lure."

"Please Mrs. Chandler, you have to believe me that I didn't want anything bad," Rebekka repeated. "I really just wanted a good job." In horror she put her hands over her face. "Is he…."

"Yes," Catherine replied. "He's dead."

Dazed, Rebekka sank to the floor on the wall. Finally the rescue workers and the police arrived.

_**New York; hospital; Catherine, Victoria Thompson; Joe Maxwell **_

Catherine sat tense in the hospital by Victoria Thompson's bed. Fortunately, the shot had not injured her life-threateningly. But she was still unconscious from the blow to her temple. The doctors could not tell when she would wake up again.

Catherine felt a hand on her shoulder. Joe Maxwell had come in. He looked seriously at her. "Are you all right?"

Catherine nodded. "Yes."

"How is she?" He pointed his head at Victoria Thompson.

"She's not in mortal danger, but the doctors can't say when she'll wake up yet."

Joe nodded. "The guy in your apartment was an FBI agent."

Catherine wasn't surprised. Asking, she looked at Joe before he continued. "He worked at the embassy in Berlin until recently."

"I knew there was a leak," Catherine replied.

"The guy's name was James Madison."

Catherine frowned. "The name says something to me."

"Yes. He also investigated the counterfeit art thing." Joe seemed visibly disturbed.

Catherine nodded understandingly. "Did he really investigate, or was he just supposed to get close to me somehow?"

Joe clicked his tongue. "Well, that's what we need to find out now." Again he looked seriously at her. "Catherine, we don't know who we can trust now if even the FBI is infiltrated. Who's to protect you now." Joe seemed helpless for the first time.

Catherine looked at the unconscious Vicky. "Have you heard anything from my son?" she asked suddenly.

"No. Why?" Joe looked at her curiously.

"It could be..." she hesitated. "It could be that he was trying to reach me."

"I didn't hear anything," Joe said.

Catherine nodded, even if she didn't reassure the answer.

"This German is currently being interrogated by our people."

Catherine waved off. "She's harmless."

Joe contradicted. "She is suspicious. She came to New York on the same flight as James Madison. He gave her the address of your apartment. She was at the museum and met with Simon Mallory before his death, but when she was questioned afterwards, she didn't mention it..."

"Joe," interrupted Catherine, "she was only the bait. She was only supposed to do a job without realizing it."

"Are you sure?" Joe doubted.

"Yes, she just happened to get into this game. Let her go."

"We still don't know where she was at the time of Simon Mallory's death."

"In my apartment together with my son." Catherine raised her eyebrow up ironically. "Now don't ask any more. If she's halfway reasonable, she'll answer your questions."

Joe took this news calmly. "How did you manage to overpower the guy? What did you use as a weapon?"

Catherine gently put her fingers on his lips. "Don't ask any more, Joe," she just said. Then she turned her eyes away. Carefully she grasped the hand of the FBI agent and hoped that everything would go well.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Olivia, Jamie**_

"Did you find her?" Vincent asked Olivia and Jamie.

Both shook their heads.

"She wasn't there," Jamie replied.

"Mmh." Vincent was not satisfied.

He was worried. Not about Catherine. He knew she was in hospital with this FBI agent who had been injured.

Marjorie had disappeared and he suspected disaster. She had not responded to his message. Since he didn't really know if she was involved in the incident, he had sent Olivia and Jamie to check on her. So she wouldn't be unnecessarily worried.

"Do you think she's in danger?" Olivia asked.

"I don't know," Vincent muttered. "It could be."

"But why should she be in danger? She has nothing to do with all this." Jamie looked at Vincent questioningly. "Or you know more than you've told us so far."

Vincent was thinking. He couldn't say himself why he was so sure. "I think she sent the sketch of Catherine and me into the tunnels."

"You mean the one you think was in the safe at the museum?" Jamie asked.

Vincent nodded.

"But you don't think Marjorie had anything to do with the murder?" Olivia asked in horror.

"At least not directly," Vincent replied. "But she is somehow the connection to someone else."

_**Berlin; flight from Berlin to New York; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, David Schmidt**_

Jake was on a plane and on his way to New York. Finally. It had taken another day until everything was cleared up. Henderson had put pressure on the two burglars until they had finally unpacked. They had been hired by an influential collector who felt betrayed after an American art expert found out that the last paintings, he had bought from Kristopher Gentian were forgeries. The men were tasked with putting pressure on the lady. According to this information, Henderson called in Inspector Keller, who in turn arrested the art collector. Confronted with the suspicion of being guilty of murdering the German museum director, the man broke in and revealed his contacts to an internationally active art robbery gang, which was particularly active in New York. Jake had immediately passed the information on to his boss Gerry Fisher, so that the FBI could arrest possible participants. He had also asked about his mother, but Gerry Fisher thought everything was fine. Jake took note of it tacitly. He felt something had happened, although he knew his mother was fine. Thoughtfully, he looked at the seat next to him. David Schmidt slept soundly. Jake had convinced him to come with him. He was not safe in Berlin, Jake had argued. But he wondered whether he could guarantee the artist greater security in New York. Certainly not as long as the backers responsible for Simon Mallory's death were running free.

At the top of the shelf above the seat were the sketches that David Schmidt had still possessed. The artist had given them to him.

"For your mother," he had said, and when Jake had seen them, he knew why. He had to smile at the memory.

David Schmidt had led Jake into his apartment. A small but well-furnished apartment. Jake had followed the artist into the bedroom. On the walls there were some clothes racks on castors with things hanging wildly in a mess. There was a chest of drawers and even more pictures. Painted canvases were loosely placed against the wall, next to them was a brick fireplace leading through the roof. David Schmidt knelt in front of the fireplace with an open flap and rummaged in it. Curiously, Jake watched the man who briefly looked around.

"Oh, you don't have to be afraid. The fireplace is no longer in use." He peered into the dark opening for a moment. "Ah, there it is." Again, he shoved one hand in and pulled it out shortly after with some rolled sketches. He rose panting. "I'm not getting any younger either," he said and closed the flap. "Come with me. He walked past Jake into the living room where the light was clearly better.

Jake followed him and watched as the artist unrolled the sketches and spread them out on the table. Curious, Jacob came closer and gasped loudly for air.

David Schmidt looked at him grinning. "Amazing, isn't it? Actually, I had wanted to give them to your mother for a long time, but she said they shouldn't be found with her if something happened to her." He looked at Jake thoughtfully.

He tried to recover from the shock as he looked into his mother's face. She smiled and she was so incredibly young. Of course, she was younger than, he told himself. He looked through the sketches she showed in the café she had told him about. The café in New York where she had been with Kristopher Gentian. Jake flipped through and was even more startled than ever. His father on his couch in his chamber in the tunnels. Good God, this picture could not have been made.

"Amazing, isn't it," David Schmidt said. "Half man, half animal. Kristopher Gentian always had unusual motifs in his pictures. Fantastic figures. And apparently, he knew Jessie, otherwise he certainly wouldn't have made a drawing of her."

Jake was fascinated by the drawings. The first shock had subsided. What remained was the amazement at the depiction of his parents. In the pictures they looked different than he knew them. Younger natural and more open. In these simple, plain pictures lay a peace and a carefreeness that Jake didn't know from his parents. Not with his father, whom he knew all his life, nor with his mother, whom he had just met. And he understood that here in these pictures they were free from the shadow that had later fallen over their lives. Despite their unusual love, they had been young and full of hope. Jake clenched his hands to fists. He wanted to know who these two people had been in the pictures. He wanted to know and understand them and, by God, he wanted to banish this shadow from their lives forever.

Jacob came from his thoughts back to reality. He was on a plane and first had to reach New York. But even now he felt a rage and a determination that he would have loved to shout out. He closed his eyes in torture. He had to control himself. Right now, he could not lose control.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Jake (Jacob), David Schmidt, Catherine**_

"Mom!" Jake shouted as he entered the apartment.

It felt familiar. Like he was coming home.

"I'm here," she called and came into the living room.

"I'm back," he said superfluously. "I brought someone with me."

Curious, Catherine looked at the man behind her son. Her smile widened. "David," she shouted in surprise.

"Hello Jessie," the artist greeted her, "I heard you were no longer called that. Excuse me. It's still nice to see you."

"What are you doing here?" asked Catherine.

"Your son took me with him." David Schmidt looked from one to the other. "I want to turn myself in. I think it's best that way. My forgeries triggered all this at first."

Catherine nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." David Schmidt seemed determined. "Enough damage has been done."

"I hope he won't be so severely convicted if he turns himself in," Jacob said. "After all, he only painted pictures and had nothing to do with the two murders."

Catherine nodded to him understanding, "We should inform Joe and talk to him." She briefly touched her son's arm. They looked at each other amicably for a moment.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Catherine, Vincent**_

"We don't know where she is," Vincent said seriously. "I know she has something to do with it."

Catherine looked at him. They were standing on the balcony of her apartment in the dark.

"Jacob might be able to get something out."

Vincent nodded. Catherine had turned off the lights in the rooms. Jacob had left them both instinctively alone and left the apartment.

"Did you hear anything from him?" Vincent asked.

"The case in Germany is as good as solved, but it probably has nothing to do with the murder of the museum director here in New York."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "Otherwise Marjorie wouldn't have disappeared either."

"It somehow touched him when I told him that Rebekka Rose was interrogating by the police," said Catherine. "He probably went to her now." Thoughtfully she looked at Vincent.

"Maybe this woman means something to him," Vincent said.

"But shouldn't you feel it if she means more to him?"

Resigned, Vincent looked down for a moment. "I haven't been able to feel everything he feels for a long time." He looked at Catherine, who looked at him questioningly. "It's as if he had built a wall between us as he left. And with every year that passes, this wall seems to become thicker and more impermeable. Sure, I can still feel where he is right now, but what he feels..." Helplessly, Vincent broke off his statement.

"Did you ever talk about it?" asked Catherine.

Vincent just shook his head tiredly. "It wouldn't change anything. He doesn't want me to meddle in his life and somehow he has found a way to shut me out."

"I'm sorry," said Catherine. "If I had more freedom of movement, I could do something. At least now Jake's presence gives me a little more privacy."

"Catherine," Vincent started. "Please stay out of this as much as you can." Then he took her in his arms and looked at her urgently. "Please. I don't want anything to happen to you."

She did not resist his care. "I know", she said only quietly.

She embraced him and lost in their hug and they forgot for a moment the world around them. When Catherine detached herself from Vincent, she smiled.

"What is it?" Vincent asked gently.

"It's so strange," she said, "I've never felt like this before."

"How do you feel?" he asked.

She was visibly looking for words. "Forgive me, but it has been so long since I put my feelings and thoughts into words and talked to someone about them. It's just as if I'm just starting to be alive again and really feel. It is only now that I realize that my memories that I have carried with me all these years have been only a faint breath of what I really feel."

She kept struggling for words while Vincent looked at her patiently. She was so beautiful. For him she would always be beautiful.

"It's as if I forgot everything and can only remember now," Catherine continued. "I have pushed it into the furthest corners of my consciousness because..."

"...because even the memories were too painful to bear," Vincent completed.

She nodded. On the horizon the morning began to turn grey.

"I have to go," Vincent said quietly.

She nodded. "I wish we could..."

Gently he put his finger on her mouth. Then he had disappeared.

_**New York; a cellar of a house; Marjorie**_

Marjorie was pitifully cold. She didn't know exactly where she was, but it was cold. Cold and dark. She had lost all sense of time. Her arm and wrist hurt from the brutal grip. Her ex-husband hadn't been squeamish when he dragged her down. She had tried to defend herself, but without success. She didn't know what to do now. Carefully she tried to stand up. Suddenly she heard footsteps and the rattling of a key being inserted into the lock. The door opened and some light flowed into the room. She was lying on the floor and above her she saw the dark figure that looked at her diabolically.

"So, my dear, have you meanwhile decided to tell me what you did with the drawing? Where is it?" He grabbed her and pulled her roughly to her feet. "Go on, tell me. It's very valuable and the people who paid for it can't take a joke."

She was silent. He hit her hard in the face. She said nothing. She had to keep the secret about the tunnels, she swore to herself.

55


	4. In the face of darkness

_**In the face of darkness**_

_**And this is the judgment,**_

_**that the light is come into the world,**_

_**and men loved the darkness rather than the light;**_

_**for their works were evil.**_

_**(John 3; 19)**_

_**New York; Apartment of Jenny Aronson; Jenny Aronson, her husband Linus**_

It had been a pleasant day, slowly coming to an end. People from the offices flocked home from work and looked forward to the weekend. This warm evening literally invited them to go out and do something. Jenny Aronson hurriedly packed her things. She was late. Together with her husband Linus, she had an appointment with a couple of friends for a concert at Carnegie Hall. She was looking forward to it. The day had been hectic, so the prospect of being carried away by intoxicating music was all the more pleasing. The journey home seemed endless to her.

"Honey, are you there?" she shouted as she entered the apartment that her husband and she lived in.

"I'm here," he shouted from the bedroom. When she entered the room, she found him already fully dressed for the concert.

"Oh, you've already moved. Sorry I'm late, but there was a problem with the new book I'm bringing out." As a self-employed publisher, she didn't have to deal with all the problems personally, but if the date of a long-announced book threatened to burst, she preferred to intervene herself.

Her husband approached her in a tuxedo. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "We still have enough time. Get ready in peace." Gently he kissed her.

"I hurry," Jenny promised and went to the bathroom.

Linus was really a treasure. They had only found each other late. By the time they got married, they had both been over forty. But it was love, and he stood by her side, even though as an engineer he didn't always understand what problems she was struggling with in her company.

At her age, they had a certain routine for getting ready for special occasions. So, they managed to get to Carnegie Hall on time by taxi.

_**New York; Carnegie Hall; Jenny Aronson, Linus, her girlfriend Lee-Ann and her husband Ed**_

"You look a little rushed, darling," her friend Lee-Ann told Jenny when they met in the foyer.

"Yes, things didn't go as planned today," Jenny replied.

"You know", Linus jokingly said, "Jenny always has to keep the reins in her hand."

Lee-Ann and her husband Ed laughed while Jenny jokingly boxed her husband's side. Together they went to their places. The concert was really nice. They played Tchaikovsky and the acoustics were intoxicating. Jenny let herself be enchanted and carried away. During the break the women went to the restroom together, while the men wanted to get drinks.

"Did you read the story about Catherine Chandler?" asked Lee-Ann.

Jenny just nodded, but Lee-Ann kept asking. "I mean, you were friends after all. I can't believe she lived under a different identity the whole time."

"Yes," Jenny murmured. "Really incredible." She wouldn't tell that she had known about it all those years.

"Have you tried to contact her now?" Lee-Ann asked curiously. "She is certainly shielded by the police."

"Yes, she will," Jenny assured briefly. "Go ahead to the men," she said. She was digging in her handbag in a clumsy way. "I want to freshen up my makeup. I'll get there then."

"That's good," Lee-Ann replied, "but don't take too long, otherwise we won't make it back to our seats in time."

She left the restroom while Jenny looked at herself in the mirror and breathed deeply. She ignored the other visitors who went past her to the toilet or washed their hands right next to her. Luckily, she was not often approached about Cathy anymore because lying was not easy for her. But there was hope that Cathy's life might normalize now, and then they could go to such concerts together. Determined Jenny put her make-up things back in her handbag and left the restroom.

In the foyer, the bustle of people was almost impenetrable.

"Hello Jenny", she was approached from the side by a business partner.

"Hello Greg, I didn't expect you here", Jenny greeted back.

"You know what one does for the woman's sake. Is Linus here too?"

Jenny was about to give an answer when someone yelled something loud. Then an unusual rattling sound was heard, followed only seconds later by horrified screams. Jenny hadn't yet understood what was actually happening when she was knocked over and fell to the ground. She wanted to stand up again, but that was impossible because panicked fleeing people climbed and ran over her and stepped on her hands. She was kicked and screamed out loud herself. And she kept on hearing this unusual rattling. Instinctively she rolled up protecting herself and held her hands above her head. Now she understood what this rattling was. She heard someone shouting and more shots. Suddenly the screams faded away and made way for an eerie silence, interrupted only by painful moaning. Jenny breathed hectically and did not dare to show any emotion. Rigid with horror she remained lying and felt something heavy on her.

_**New York; garage of a hotel and hotel room; Jacob Chandler, Rebekka Rose**_

Jacob Chandler drove the car into the hotel's underground garage and parked it. He turned off the engine and looked to the side at the passenger seat. The young woman there stared at the dashboard in front of her.

"We're there," Jacob said superfluously, because he didn't know what else to say.

The woman next to him just nodded. She was beautiful and Jake felt the same attraction that had existed between them from the beginning. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her and comfort her and assure her that everything would be all right. He wanted to protect her. But he wasn't sure if she wanted it.

He resolutely undid the seat belt. "I will take you up to your room."

She just nodded in silence and got out of the car apathetically.

"Becka, talk to me," Jake asked. "It's not so bad, after all."

Now she looked at him. Serious and sad. He took her by the arm and together they went to the elevator.

"You couldn't have known that Simon Mallory was dealing in fake artworks and was in cahoots with a gang of art robbers."

Abruptly, she turned to him. "That's what you say." Her voice trembled with indignation. "Your people at the FBI think I'm an accomplice."

"That was just a hunch from my colleague," Jake replied.

He was looking for words. He knew that the young woman from Germany was innocent and had only served as a means to an end. Simon Mallory, director of the Museum of Modern Art, had brought her to New York under the pretext of an interview and asked her to bring him a drawing from Germany. One day after Rebekka Rose gave him this drawing, the museum director was murdered and the drawing was stolen. The arrests of some men in Berlin for the murder of a museum director there had put them on the trail of an international art forgery gang.

Again, silence spread between them as they took the elevator to the top. Carefully, Jake looked to the side. Was Rebekka crying? He didn't hope, because he felt overwhelmed by female outbursts of emotion. Rebekka looked down. They had already arrived on the floor where her room was. Together they walked down the hall and Rebekka opened the room with her hotel card. The room was shrouded in darkness, only weakly interrupted by the light shining in from outside.

Jake pressed the light switch and saw Becka unbutton her coat and take it off. She looked tired and exhausted, which was no wonder after hours of interrogation by the police and FBI.

He stopped next to the door and waited. He tried to relax, which was not easy because the pain on his side reminded him that his ribs were broken. A souvenir he had brought back from Germany when he investigated the FBI's art forgery case there.

Finally, Rebekka looked at him again. "What are you still doing here" she asked roughly. Maybe that was some kind of protective mechanism.

"I want to make sure you're okay," Jake replied.

Rebekka breathed deeply. "Actually, you should distrust me too."

"Listen, I know you have nothing to do with this." Jake looked at the young woman with an incantatory gaze.

She suddenly held her hands to her ears, as if she didn't want to hear anything more about all this. Jacob quickly bridged the distance between them and embraced her.

"Everything will be all right," he muttered calmly.

She shook her head with her eyes closed. Then she looked up at him. "God, when I think only of your mother. She must think I'm guilty." Now tears came into Rebekka's eyes. "This man from the FBI who came to New York with me tried to kill her. And your colleague is in a coma." She tore herself away from him and turned away. "It's my fault that..."

"No," Jake disagreed, "you have to stop blaming yourself." He took her in his arms again. He looked seriously at her. "There are evil people in the world who do not shy away from anything and draw innocent people into their machinations. That is why you must stop reproaching yourself. My FBI colleagues will soon have shed light on the whole matter."

"But..." Becka wanted to object.

Jake took her face in both hands and kissed her.

_**New York; balcony of Catherine's apartment; Catherine and Vincent**_

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."1*

Vincent's voice went silent. The night was quiet up here. The noises of the streets sounded only weakly from below. Strangely touched by the poem, he turned to Catherine, who had put her head on his shoulder. Frightened, Vincent drove together. Tears ran down her face.

"Catherine, what's wrong?" Worried, he looked at her and pulled her tighter involuntarily.

She smiled at him in tears. "That was beautiful."

Silently he kept looking at her.

"And very fitting," she added after a while.

Carefully Vincent stroked the tears from her face. "Don't look back," he reminded her quietly. "No one can change the past or undo it."

"I know." Catherine smiled wistfully at him. "And yet I always wonder what would have happened if..." She broke off.

"It's getting late," Vincent said. "You should calm down."

She shook her head. "No, I want to savor every moment with you." She sat up. "I need you so much, more than ever before." She gave him a timid smile. "Isn't that strange? I was alone for so long and now I wonder how I could have been without you at all".

Again, Vincent pulled her into his arms and pressed her firmly to himself. Sunken into each other they enjoyed the presence of the other.

"Jacob should have been back by now," said Catherine. "He wanted to update himself on the investigation into the counterfeit art case and the death of Simon Mallory with his FBI colleagues."

"Do you think he's with that woman?" Vincent asked.

"That's quite possible. When I told him she was being interrogated, he seemed pretty worried." Catherine looked at him thoughtfully.

"Then you think it's something serious?" Vincent continued.

Catherine seemed uncertain. "I don't know. I'm not sure what Rebekka Rose's motives really were to get involved with Jacob. Physical attraction doesn't mean that it's love. But maybe we can't judge that at all."

Vincent nodded. "Probably you're right." He paused for a moment. "I know so little about him." Sadly, he looked at her.

"You have alienated yourselves from each other," Catherine said quietly.

"I wanted to protect him," Vincent replied. "Just as I always protected you, but..."

"...he didn't want it," Catherine finished the sentence. "He wanted to be independent and go his own way."

"Maybe I was too scared," Vincent said. "After his liberation as a baby, I guarded and protected him and wanted to keep all dangers away from him."

Tenderly, Catherine raised her hand and gently stroked Vincent's face. "You were afraid. You had lost me and didn't want to lose your son, too."

Vincent took Catherine's hand in his hairy one and brought it to his lips. "And then one day I lost him to the world out there." He pulled his face painfully. "I should be happy. I am so happy that he is a normal person, that he is not..."

"...that he didn't look like you," Catherine finished the sentence.

Vincent nodded. "All possibilities are open to him. He is free. That makes me happy."

"Vincent", Catherine said quietly, "maybe you just have to give him the time to go his way. Give him the opportunity to find his place in the world he wants to take and the woman he wants to spend his life with. When he knows where his place in life is, he will no longer have the need to distance himself from you."

Vincent looked seriously at the woman he loved. "You are right. I think you're helping him find himself. Your presence helps him. I can feel that."

At that moment the door of the apartment went and announced the arrival of their son.

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment; Catherine and Jacob**_

When Catherine came out of the bedroom dressed the next morning, Jacob was already awake. He spoke on the phone and walked restlessly up and down the living room. Catherine didn't want to eavesdrop on him, so she went straight into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. She didn't stay alone for long.

"Good morning," her son greeted her as he entered.

"Good morning," Catherine replied. "Did you sleep well?"

Jacob grimaced. "It went like this."

"What's the matter?" Catherine asked worriedly.

"It's just my ribs," Jacob replied.

"Maybe you should have that checked again," Catherine said.

"Mom, that's going to pass," Jacob disagreed.

"But actually, you shouldn't be on your feet so much," Catherine replied.

"It's all right. I thought you might want to go to the hospital." Jake preferred to distract the conversation from himself. "Vicky woke up. Someone just called from the ward."

"And what's her condition?" Catherine asked curiously.

"She's responsive and has been asking about you," her son said.

"Then I would very much like to go to her and visit her," said Catherine. "Would you like anything in particular for breakfast?"

"No, I'm fine with toast," Jake replied. "It could get crowded in town and in the hospital."

"Why?" asked Catherine.

"There was a rampage at Carnegie Hall last night."

"Oh my God," it broke out of Catherine. "That's terrible."

"It came on the news this morning," Jacob continued. "I've already phoned my colleagues in Washington. They still have to find out if it's just a crazy lunatic or possibly a terrorist attack."

"Do you have to do anything? Is there anything we can do to help," Catherine asked immediately.

"No, no," her son reassured her, "I'm completely at your disposal."

"Then there's no other FBI agent to take care of me." Catherine noticed this with a certain relief, that Jake didn't share.

"I'm afraid, given the current developments in the city, that's going to fall by the wayside. Especially since we still have to investigate why an FBI agent tried to kill you."

"I think he had already been put on me in Berlin," said Catherine.

Jacob nodded. "You're probably right. Still, it gives me a headache."

Catherine shyly touched her son's arm. "I know. I'm sorry you're involved. You would rather..."

"Nonsense," Jacob mumbled and carefully laid his hand on his mother's. "I am exactly where I want to be now. And you can be sure that I will not leave your side. Unless Pa takes care of you."

On the way to the hospital, Catherine thought that Jacob hadn't said anything about last night and Rebekka Rose.

_**New York; Hospital; Victoria Thompson, Mona Thompson, Catherine, Jacob, Jenny Aronson**_

Victoria Thompson felt weak and miserable. And she hated that. Her mother Mona Thompson sat by her bed. She lay alone in a room, for which she was grateful, for there was quite a tumult to be heard from the hospital corridors.

"What's going on out there?" she asked weakly.

"Don't worry about it," her mother just said. "You're tired. Just rest."

Vicky closed her eyes briefly. "If I understand it right, I've been asleep for almost three days. That should be enough."

"You received a blow to the head and were unconscious," replied Mona Thompson.

Again, her daughter closed her eyes tiredly. At that moment the door opened and Catherine and Jacob Chandler entered the room.

Catherine briefly pressed Mona's shoulder to greet her, and then looked at the young FBI agent. "Hey. You look better already."

Victoria smiled tortured as an answer.

"How do you feel?" Catherine asked gently.

"Like a run over cat," Vicky replied. Her voice could only be heard as cawing.

Mona Thompson leaned forward and gently stroked her daughter's face. "Would you like something to drink?"

Vicky nodded and Mona held a glass of water to her lips. After Vicky drank, she leaned back into the pillows. Her gaze was now clear and she looked at Catherine questioningly. "How", she had to clear her throat, "how did you manage to finish this guy off?" She alluded to the situation in Catherine's apartment where she was injured.

"I somehow succeeded," Catherine answered evasively, because she couldn't tell that Vincent had come to her aid.

"Is this Rebekka Rose involved?" Vicky asked persistently.

"No", Jacob replied this time, "she had nothing to do with it."

"But this guy. Was he really from the FBI?"

"Yes, but that needs to be investigated," Jake explained.

Vicky made a serious face. "You're still not safe," she said to Catherine.

"Child," her mother quietly admonished, "you should rest and not think about your work."

Victoria Thompson waved wearily. "Who will take care of you now" she asked Catherine.

She smiled encouragingly at her. "Don't worry about me. I have my personal bodyguard in the shape of my son with me".

Vicky did not let herself be put off. "If the FBI is infiltrated by the Mafia, you can't trust anyone there anymore," she said to Jake.

He smiled cheerlessly. "I know. But that shouldn't be your problem now. First get back on your feet."

Vicky nodded and closed her eyes. Catherine put her hand on Vicky's again. "We'll be back soon," she promised.

Catherine and Jacob quietly left the hospital room. Outside on the hospital corridors there was hectic activity. As they had heard, injured people from the rampage had been brought in here. Jacob led his mother unerringly to the elevator. They passed a waiting area where some people were sitting. They had almost passed by when Catherine saw from the corner of her eye a figure that looked familiar to her. She turned around and took a closer look.

"Jenny" she shouted full of surprise and hurried to her friend.

Jenny Aronson sat alone on a chair and looked down apathetically. She wore an evening gown that looked rather battered. Her face also looked battered. Abrasions and bruises appeared. Her wrist was bandaged.

Catherine bent down to her as she grasped the condition of her friend. "Jenny! For God's sake, what happened?"

Only slowly did Catherine's voice get through to the injured woman. Slowly she raised her head and stared at Catherine, who was horrified. Close behind Catherine stood Jake, guessing what was going on. Catherine squatted down to look her girlfriend right in the face. Empty eyes looked at her.

"He's dead," she said.

Confused, Catherine shook her head. "Who? Who's dead?"

A jolt went through her friend. "Linus. My husband. They say he's dead."

"Oh my God. How?" asked Catherine.

Silence followed, because Jenny Aronson seemed to be lost in a sea of horror.

Jacob bent down to his mother. "I'm afraid it has something to do with the amok run."

Shocked, Catherine looked at him and Jacob nodded to her. She turned back to her friend and took both her hands in hers.

"Jenny," Catherine said quietly. "Were you at Carnegie Hall last night?"

The girlfriend nodded and remained silent.

Catherine rose slowly and looked at her son. "We must help her."

_**New York; Apartment of Jenny Aronson; Catherine, Jacob, Jenny Aronson **_

It took several hours until everything was settled with the doctors. Jenny Aronson had a concussion. The hospital could not keep her there because all the beds were occupied by the many seriously injured. Jacob tried to find out what had happened to Jenny's husband Linus. Unfortunately, all police and FBI colleagues could only tell him so much that an armed man had stormed the Carnegie Hall foyer the night before and fired wildly. And that was exactly during the break of a concert. There had been 23 dead and over fifty wounded. Among the dead were Jenny's husband Linus and her two friends Lee Ann and Edward Hayes. Jenny was in shock. Readily and without another word she let Catherine and Jake drive her home.

Catherine took her to the apartment. "You should be sleeping," she said firmly.

Her friend nodded apathetically. Catherine helped her undress. She fetched a glass of water and got Jenny to take the painkillers the hospital had given them. Finally, Jenny was lying in bed staring apathetically at the ceiling.

"Try to sleep," Catherine said quietly.

"I can still hear the screams," it weakly came over Jenny's lips. "Those terrible screams and... and the shots that didn't stop." She sobbed and suddenly tears ran down her face. "Oh my God..."

Catherine pulled her into her arms and held her until she calmed down. Finally, Jenny leaned back into the pillows and closed her eyes.

"Should we notify anyone?" Catherine asked calmly.

When no answer came, she thought Jenny had fallen asleep. But then another slight jolt went through her friend.

"Our lawyer. Call our lawyer. Linus and mine. Robert Dalton. He knows. He'll take care of it," she murmured in a weakening voice.

"It's good. I will," Catherine replied quietly. Then she waited until Jenny's breaths were even and she had fallen asleep.

Jacob had waited patiently in the living room. "How is she?"

Catherine looked at him seriously when she came to him. "She's been in shock so far, but it'll wear off."

"Do you know if she has relatives?" Jacob asked.

Catherine shook her head. "As far as I know no one who is still alive. She told me to inform her lawyer, a certain Robert Dalton. He would take care of everything else. Maybe I'll find the address and phone number in her pocket or in her files."

"I can find it for you on the Internet," Jacob offered and already pulled out his smartphone. "That goes faster."

Catherine smiled gratefully. "I've never dealt with these modern means of communication, but I know you can find anything about it."

Jacob nodded confirming. "Didn't you ever have a computer or a mobile phone?"

Catherine said no. "It seemed too dangerous to me. My contacts in the Witness Protection Program advised me against it. It was more important that absolutely nobody noticed me."

"I'm sure it wasn't easy for you," Jacob said quietly and looked at her seriously.

Catherine smiled wistfully. "No, it wasn't. But you get used to everything."

"I guess you don't want to leave your friend alone now," Jake drew attention to her current situation.

"No. I think someone she knows should stay with her," Catherine said. "I'd like to stay here for the night. I'm sure there's a guest room."

Understanding, Jacob nodded and looked around the living room. "I guess I can sleep on this couch to some extent."

Catherine wanted to disagree, but her son raised his hand. "I certainly won't leave you unattended this night."

Catherine smiled at him. "You are very persistent."

Now Jacob laughed freely for the first time since she had met him. "Yes. Probably I got that from you. If you promise to stay here, I'll just get some toiletries from the supermarket downstairs."

"We should send a message into the tunnels so your father knows," Catherine said.

"I'll take care of it," Jake replied.

A short time later he disappeared downstairs. He had no hesitation in leaving his mother alone for now. That seemed even safer to him than to call in another FBI person to guard her. As long as the background to the assassination attempt on his mother had not been clarified, he would personally take care of her. As he walked the few yards to the store right next to the apartment building, Jake felt this cold rage rise again. His fingers were tingling and he closed his eyes briefly to regain his self-control. No one would hurt his mother. He would take care of that.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Jamie**_

Vincent took a walk through the tunnels. Later he wanted to play chess with Geoffrey. He had sent a message to the helpers who were trying to find out about Marjorie's whereabouts. The helper who normally worked in the administration of the Municipal Museums had disappeared. Vincent feared that she was involved in the case of art forgery or at least had been involved by someone. Perhaps she was in serious danger. The other helpers were a way to do something.

On the way back to his chamber, Jamie ran into him. The cheeky girl of yore had become a mature woman who still knew what she wanted. Mouse felt this regularly. They lived together and had two children who had almost grown up by then.

"Vincent," she shouted, "good that I meet you."

"What is Jamie" Vincent asked with his calm, deep voice.

She hesitated briefly. "It's about Catherine. Olivia and I talked to each other and we have the idea to give a celebration as a welcome for her. What do you think?"

Thoughtfully Vincent turned his head.

"Pascal and Mouse also like the idea. We talked to everyone who still knows Catherine. Everyone thinks the idea is good and..."

She was interrupted. Vincent had raised his arm to stop her gush of speech. "Jamie, this is really a sweet idea, but..."

"The children are thrilled and want to give a concert. Catherine always loved classical music." Jamie just kept talking.

Vincent had to smile. He wished Catherine could hear Jamie's enthusiasm. "It's not that easy," he said to the blonde woman.

"You mean because she's still living above," she replied, "but we thought she wanted to come below to you as soon as possible."

Vincent was looking for words. "There are still some obstacles. Someone tried to kill her just a few days ago. Marjorie has disappeared, and we don't know what happened to her."

Jamie seemed disappointed. "We thought it was a good idea for her to know that she's welcome here and will always have a place."

Vincent smiled into himself. "Believe me, she knows. But first we have to get everything else out of the way before we can finally live in peace."

Jamie shrugged a little lost. "Good. Postponed is not abandoned. Then we do it a little later. Nevertheless, we can start with the planning", she said confidently.

Vincent noticed that he couldn't get her to change her mind. "Thank you, Jamie," he said. "It's really a wonderful idea."

"What are you up to?" Jamie distracted from the subject.

"I wanted to play chess with Geoffrey," Vincent replied.

"Then you're on your way to your chamber," Jamie asked.

Vincent nodded.

"Good. I think one of the kids came earlier with a message for you. It should be in your chamber."

Vincent rushed to his room filled with an inner restlessness. As long as Marjorie's whereabouts were not clarified, this unrest would remain. He knew that.

The message was from Jacob, and what he read did not let his restlessness subside. There had been a rampage at Carnegie Hall, and Catherine's friend Jenny Aronson was affected. He knew this woman only through Catherine's stories, and yet he could feel her pain. He knew how terrible it was to lose a loved one. The news said that Catherine and Jacob would stay with her friend overnight. He felt a stab of disappointment that he would not be able to see his family today. But he understood Catherine's concern for her friend. He could literally feel it. Vincent's thoughts were swirling and he listened into himself. Could he really feel it or was he imagining that he could feel Catherine's concern? He wasn't sure, and the more he tried to listen into himself, the more insecure he became. His thoughts whirled wildly. Could this bond between Catherine and him be new arise now that she was back and they were getting closer day by day?

Vincent sank perplexed on his couch, at the same time filled with hope and fear.

_**New York; apartment of Jenny Aronson; Catherine, Jacob**_

When Jacob came back to Jenny Aronson's apartment, he found his mother in the kitchen. The furnishings were the finest. His mother's friend wasn't exactly one of the poorest.

"Quite luxurious," he muttered.

Catherine, who had just inspected the fridge, turned to him. "Well, I suppose Jenny's publishing company is making enough money," she said.

"Did you know her husband?" Jake asked.

"No. We never met. All I know is that they met late and got married. I had almost no more contact with Jenny. As far as I know, her husband was an engineer." Catherine fell silent and hoped that Jacob would stop asking when and in what cases she had had contact with Jenny. She was not sure how he would react to her answers.

"Did you find the guest room?" her son asked instead.

"Yes. And bedding. We can make you comfortable on the sofa," Catherine replied relieved. "I was also able to reach this attorney. He comes here tomorrow morning to discuss everything with Jenny."

"Do you want to stay with her that long?" Jake asked.

"I'll ask her tomorrow morning. The most important thing is that she sleeps now," Catherine replied.

"I got us something to eat," Jacob said and put a bag of Chinese on the table.

"That's good. The fridge doesn't give much". That wasn't quite true. Catherine was relieved that she didn't have to do anything herself after that day. "Did you send a message into the tunnels?"

Jake nodded. "Yes. One of the helpers lives nearby. He's making sure it gets to Pa."

"You know a lot, don't you," said Catherine. When Jake looked at her questioningly, she explained it to him. "I mean who you can contact to and who knows about the tunnels." Jake smiled slightly as he took off his jacket. "That's how it is when you grow up in the tunnels." Catherine looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Then you didn't regret it, not growing up in the world above."

Jake rummaged in the Chinese's bag and gradually brought the food to the table. "Well," he said casually, "it would have made things a lot easier if I had gone to a normal school from the start. So, I had to trick a little when I applied to the FBI."

"To what extent?" asked Catherine.

"Of course, I was first taught with the other kids in the tunnels. From Mary. You knew Mary, didn't you?" Jake asked.

Catherine nodded wistfully. "Yes, I also knew Mary once."

"Later, as I got older, Pa said I should go to a normal school above. At that time, I didn't really care, but Pa said it was important." Jake continued in his story. "So, I was enrolled in a New York high school. As a legal guardian..." Jacob suddenly hesitated.

"Who?" Catherine asked. "Who was your legal guardian?"

"You know, Diana had offered herself. Her address was then my official address, which we gave to the school." Jake didn't dare look his mother in the eye. She knew how much Diana meant to him. She had been like a mother to him.

"Then she took care of you when you went to high school." Catherine's voice sounded neutral and revealed nothing of her feelings.

"Yes." Now he looked at Catherine, who looked at him thoughtfully.

"And what was when she died?" asked his mother.

A moment of silence followed.

"She was killed on a mission." Jake looked ahead. "I went to college at that time. After that...", he stopped for a moment.

Catherine waited patiently. "What was next" she asked gently.

He shook his head as if to get rid of such unpleasant memories. "I was terribly angry," he just said.

"To the men who killed her," Catherine tried to help her son.

"Of course," Jacob replied, "and to all the others."

"Who do you mean by all the others?" asked his mother.

Jacob made a reluctant face. It was obvious that he would have preferred not to tell anything at all. He had already said too much.

Catherine waited patiently. She wasn't sure if he trusted her enough to share his thoughts and feelings with her.

"I was angry at you," Jacob said.

Surprised, his mother looked at him. "Why? I was dead for you."

"Yes", he said then. "You were dead, but what Pa had told me about you made me miss you anyway. I was angry at Diana because she, like you, had repeatedly risked her life. And I was angry at Pa because Diana's death didn't seem to matter much to him."

"Do you really think that?" asked Catherine.

Jake went on to unpack the food. He was thinking. "I don't know exactly," he said. "He was shocked by her death, but not devastated."

"But he knew that you were attached to Diana Bennett and that her death was getting very close to you," Catherine said.

"Yes, he already knew that. He was very worried about me, but it's something else," he said and looked his mother straight in the face. "It was only then that I really realized that he had never really loved Diana. He never had the same feelings as she had. She deserved more. Do you understand?"

Catherine nodded slowly. "I understand," she replied quietly. "And therefore, this anger at me."

Jacob turned his gaze away. "I am sorry. That's not fair to you, I know that by now."

Catherine smiled wistfully. "It's all right."

Jacob shook his head. "No, it's not." He couldn't tell his mother everything, but he didn't want her to think he had any grudge against her. "I was in your apartment in Berlin," he said. "I felt you there like never before."

He reminded Catherine of the fact that he could feel her as Vincent had once done. "I felt your loneliness in this apartment. I felt it."

Catherine felt uncomfortably touched that he had perceived so much of her. "It wasn't as bad as you might think."

Now Jacob looked right into her eyes. "But that was it. I felt it."

Without another word he sat down. Catherine sat down with him, and silently they ate together.

_**New York; various streets; the assassin**_

It had gotten dark in New York. Fortunately, the stranger thought as he wandered aimlessly through the dark alleys. The anonymity of the big city protected him, although the police feverishly searched for him. Everyone searched for him.

When he thought back to last night, satisfaction filled him. He had shown it to all. The big mouths, who had otherwise only laughed at him, had gone down on their knees in rows before him. He had thrown away his weapons. Now he carried only a pistol with him. He was hungry, but didn't dare to go to any hot dog stand and buy something. Maybe someone would recognize him, he thought confused. Probably someone would immediately point the finger at him and the police would rush him. No, no. Of course, he couldn't go back home either. There was nobody there anymore. His home was dead. A giggle stole on his lips. To them he had shown it first. During these thoughts he shuffled on through the alleys. He flinched briefly when he saw a police siren from a distance. He was only not allowed to go into the busy areas. He would stay in the dark. Nobody would find him there.

_**New York; a cellar of a house; Marjorie**_

Marjorie lay on the ground and froze terrible. The cold had completely penetrated her. She didn't know how long she had been unconscious on the basement floor. She had lost all sense of time and space. All she still felt was the pain and the cold. Everything hurt her. Her ex-husband hadn't been squeamish. After a few light strokes to the face, he had become coarser after she had said nothing. At some point he had left her alone. She didn't know why. Had she possibly told him something without noticing it? She had no exact memories of it.

With difficulty she tried to get up despite the pain. She was hungry and thirsty. She was in a basement room, she knew so much. She sobbed and supported herself laboriously on the wall. Through a tiny window some light penetrated from the streetlight so that she could look around. Another sob went out of her lips. Carefully she felt her way along the wall to the door. Her hands were grazed, but she couldn't remember how it had happened. She gasped loudly. She was dizzy. Finally, she stood in front of the door. She pushed down the handle and shook it, but it was in vain. Locked. Despondent, she sank to the floor next to the door. Timothy, her ex-husband would come back. She was sure of that. She closed her eyes only to reopen them the next moment. She looked at the wall by the window. In the corner, a pipe led down from above and through the floor. Hope suddenly spread in her.

_**New York; various streets; the assassin**_

The dark figure ducked behind some trash cans. Through the cracks between two garbage cans he watched a patrol car pass slowly. Blimey. They were everywhere. The hand unerringly went to the gun he had stuck in his back under the sweater he was wearing. When the police car had turned into the next side street, he rose. Uncertain, he looked around. Where would he go now? He decided on the direction the patrol car had come from. He breathed heavily. He had to find shelter somewhere. He went to the next intersection and turned into a side street. Everything was dark except for the glow of the street lamps. Weak light shone from the inhabited houses. It was not the best area. Hells Kitchen. Suddenly a vehicle came towards him. The light of the headlights dazzled him. Too late he noticed that the police had obviously returned. He cursed loudly, turned around on his heel and fled around the next corner. He had to leave as soon as possible. To his right was an unlit house. A few steps led up to the front door. To the side, a staircase led down into the cellar. He jumped down the stairs and shook the door. It was locked, but quite old. He took a quick run-up and threw himself at it. On the second onslaught, the door gave way. He entered a dark corridor and pushed the door back against the wall so that nobody could see from the outside that it had been ripped off its hinges. Carefully he groped along the wall. From somewhere he heard a monotonous knock. It sounded as if some object was being knocked on a pipe. On the wall he could feel a light switch, but he didn't dare turn it on. Maybe it was visible from the outside. As he slowly moved on, the knocking became louder. Suddenly light came on. Startled, he saw that he was in a dirty basement hallway with doors sideways. Already he heard footsteps in front of him. Obviously, someone came down the stairs to the cellar. He looked hectically around.

_**New York; Police Department; Dick Spencer; Dale Evans (Detectives)**_

Tiredly, Dick Spencer started the coffee machine. He waited patiently until the brown broth had run into the cup. Carefully he took the hot drink and sipped on it. Then he balanced the cup back to his office and desk. He had to stay awake. All stations were on high alert. The police feverishly looked for the culprit who had shot around last night in the foyer of Carnegie Hall and caused a massacre. When the emergency services and the police had finally arrived, they had seen an image of horror. Dead and injured were lying around. But no trace of the perpetrator. At first the aim was to bring the injured immediately to the adjacent hospitals. Although the police had issued a large-scale search, the search had so far remained unsuccessful.

Dick Spencer gritted his teeth. They had to find this lunatic before he could do any more harm.

"Hey, Dick, any news?" Dale Evans, his colleague, just came into the office.

Dick shook his head. "No, so far there have been no new messages. Nothing special, anyway."

"The guy seems to have swallowed off the face of the earth," said his colleague.

Dick Spencer nodded discontentedly. "We'll get him already. He's definitely making a mistake."

"The question is what drives someone to shoot people randomly." Dale Evans shook his head at a loss, as if he still couldn't believe it.

"Totally crazy," said Dick Spencer. "Some lunatic who's had something go wrong in his life."

"Or someone who for religious reasons thinks he has to destroy all people who do not belong to the same faith as him," Dale suspected.

Dick Spencer nodded in agreement and stared out the window. He sank into gloom again. The phone startled him.

"Yes hello," he said, suddenly wide awake again.

"A police patrol has been watching a suspect at 47th Street West." The voice squawked garishly through the listener.

"Did they check him out?" Dick Spencer asked.

"No. The guy ran away. But the description matches the one we got from the assassin."

"Okay. Dale and I drive over and take a look," Dick replied. He hung up. "A police patrol has spotted a suspect matching the assassin's description."

"Where?" asked Dale Evans.

"47th West, 9th Avenue," replied Dick Spencer, reaching for his jacket.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Geoffrey, Pascal **_

Vincent and Geoffrey played chess together. Vincent had difficulty concentrating on the game.

"You're not in the game," Geoffrey rebuked him.

Vincent looked friendly at the man in front of him. "You're right. Forgive me."

"I don't want you to give me victory," Geoffrey said. He had known Vincent since he came into the tunnels as a boy. That's why he knew that his former teacher could play much better when he concentrated.

"Forgive me," Vincent repeated.

"You miss her, don't you," Geoffrey said. "You would rather be with her now."

Vincent nodded. "Of course. Even though I enjoy our chess games very much, there are now things that are more important to me."

"You don't have to apologize. I can well understand that." Geoffrey stood up at these words. "I'm happy for you, but I still don't want a victory for free. So, I would suggest that we adjourn the game to another time."

Vincent smiled gratefully at the man. "You are right. That would be better."

Suddenly hectic knocking sounded on the pipes.

Geoffrey, who was already halfway out, stopped abruptly. "Do you hear that?"

Vincent, lost in his thoughts for a moment, turned his head in Geoffrey's direction. Both listened eagerly.

"Pascal received an emergency call. Come," Vincent said and together they hurried towards the pipe chamber.

Pascal was already waiting for them. "The message comes from Marjorie. But unfortunately, I can't tell exactly where it's coming from."

Together they listened to the distress call.

Pascal held his stethoscope to the pipe. "Somewhere south of Central Park," he murmured in a low voice.

"Then I follow the knock in that direction," Vincent said.

"I'm coming with you," Geoffrey offered himself immediately.

At that moment the knocking stopped.

_**New York; a cellar of a house; Marjorie, Timothy (her ex-husband)**_

Marjorie knew some codes. Her father had taught her those many years ago, when he had supported the people in the tunnels as a helper. That's why she knew the code for an emergency call. She had found a pole on the floor. Not ideal, but she could knock on the pipe with it and hoped that any of the people down there would hear it. Deep in her work, she didn't notice how the door behind her opened.

"You bitch", it sounded rough. "What are you doing?"

She was torn hard on the shoulder and thrown to the ground with one blow. She writhed in pain. Fearfully she looked at the figure standing above her.

"What is this?" her ex-husband asked sharply. "Tell me finally where this picture is."

Starred with horror, she could only look at him silently.

He picked up the bar and pointed to a tray he had placed on one of the shelves on the wall. "There. Drink something. Maybe this will help your memory." Then he disappeared out the door again. Marjorie watched him silently. What was she going to do? She struggled to get back on her feet and fumbled for the tray. A glass of water and a slice of bread. Like in the dungeon, she thought briefly and then grabbed it. She squatted on the floor. She could only wait and hope.

_**New York; a basement of a house; Timothy (Marjorie's ex-husband), the assassin**_

Marjorie's ex-husband carefully locked the door behind him. He turned around, but did not pay attention to his immediate surroundings. So, he didn't notice that a figure was coming out of the shadow behind him and chasing him. He walked up the stairs to the ground floor and through a hallway to his apartment. When he opened the door, someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind.

"Hey, mister."

Surprised, he turned around. Then he felt nothing more. The figure pulled the lifeless body through the open door into the apartment.

_**New York; various streets; Dick Spencer; Dale Evans, two policemen in a patrol car**_

"Damn it. He must be here somewhere," said the policeman in the patrol car.

"And you're really sure he looked like the assassin?" Dick Spencer grumbled to himself. Maybe he and Dale had made the trip from the police station for nothing.

"I bet my mother-in-law it was the guy," the cop said again.

"We don't know one hundred percent for sure," the other policeman, who had been on patrol with him, joined in. "We only saw him once for a moment. After that he immediately turned around on his heel and ran away."

"That was the son of a bitch," his partner disagreed. "A white man with dark hair. He wore jeans and a black leather jacket. That's the description given by the guy from Carnegie Hall."

"I'm not sure," the other policeman said. "It's dark, and now he's swallowed up from the face of the earth."

They drove through the streets in a patrol car. Dick Spencer looked disgruntled. Dale, sitting behind him, patted the policeman who was driving on the shoulder.

"Stop the car," he told him. "Let's just walk through the streets," he said to Dick. "Maybe something strikes us."

Dick Spencer grumbled, but then got out.

"Shall we wait for you?" asked one of the patrolmen.

"No, just keep doing your rounds and keep your eyes open." Dick hoped the message would arrive. He hated it when two partners didn't agree on their judgment. Dale Evans stood on the sidewalk, checking both sides of the road.

"Over there they want to have seen the guy," he said to Dick, pointing his hand in one direction.

The patrol car slowly moved away from them.

"I don't think we're seriously finding anyone here. If that really was the assassin, he's long gone." Dick Spencer remained pessimistic, but willingly followed his colleague who walked down the sidewalk inspecting every trash can.

Dick looked at the houses. It didn't seem to be particularly elegant here. They walked along the blocks of houses without noticing anything special.

When they arrived at the next intersection, Dale Evans sighed loudly. "You're probably right. False alarm."

At that moment, they heard a dull bang. Their trained ears rated it a gunshot.

"Damn, where was that?" Dick Spencer looked around. On the nightly street nobody was to be seen.

"It sounded like it was somewhere in one of the houses," Dale said.

Both men walked back down the street looking up at the facades of the houses. Dick felt extremely uncomfortable. On the sidewalk they were like on the presentation plate.

"Nothing to see," he said to his colleague.

"We could call for reinforcements and search the houses," Dale suggested.

Dick Spencer shook his head resignedly. "Can you really say for sure that it was a shot? Maybe someone just dropped something. We didn't see anyone. If we just call for reinforcements now because of our suspicions, we'll sound just as stupid as the two idiots in the patrol car earlier."

Dale Evans understood and dropped his shoulders. Discouraged, they went back to their own vehicle.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Geoffrey, Pascal**_

"It stopped," Pascal confirmed superfluously, as everyone had noticed.

Breathlessly they listened spellbound to the pipe. But nothing.

"Damn" cursed Geoffrey.

"Nothing more." Pascal took the stethoscope from the metal.

"Who's keeping watch in that direction?" Vincent asked.

"Lucas, as far as I know," Pascal replied.

Vincent wanted to rush off, but Pascal held him back. "Wait, I'll send him a message. It'll go faster."

So, Vincent waited patiently for the communication over the pipes. Lucas answered quickly.

"He's sure it was Marjorie," Pascal says.

"Can he narrow down where the message came from?" Vincent asked.

Pascal sent the message over the pipes. A confirmation came immediately.

"Hells Kitchen," said Geoffrey out loud, who had been following the reply. "But he doesn't know exactly from where there."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "That doesn't really help us."

"If we can't narrow it down, searching won't help," Geoffrey said. "We'd at least have to narrow it down to a few blocks to do anything."

"So, there's nothing we can do," Pascal said.

"Keep your ears open," Vincent instructed him. "And give a message to all the guards to pay attention to an emergency call that comes through the pipes. I will try to contact Jacob as soon as possible tomorrow. Maybe he can figure something out."

Pascal and Geoffrey nodded to him.

_**New York; in a house in Hells Kitchen; the assassin**_

The intruder went looking through the apartment. Here he had no inhibitions about turning on the lights. He quickly found the kitchen and something to eat and drink. He was starving to death. Hungry, he ate a piece of bread and cheese. He found a bottle of Coke and drank it almost empty in one go. Then, with the bottle open, he marched back into the hall where he'd left the guy's body. That didn't bother him. He had first pulled one over his skull and then shot him in the hallway of the apartment. One rat less, he thought to himself. He went into the living room and turned on the TV. The news brought news of the attack. He giggled inside himself. They wouldn't find him. He was safe here for now. At some point his eyes closed.

_**New York; apartment of Jenny Aronson; Catherine, Jacob**_

Catherine slept restlessly in the guest room of Jenny's apartment. Several times during the night she got up and looked after Jenny, but her friend was fast asleep. The sedatives did their job, for which Catherine was grateful. She had borrowed nightwear from Jenny's closet. As she walked past the living room, she heard her son snore quietly. That made her smile, despite the serious situation. Hopefully the assassin was found quickly. Together with Jacob she had followed the news. As happy as she was that Jenny was asleep, it seemed difficult for her to find sleep. She felt an inner restlessness, but could not say why. Restlessly she rolled back and forth. Catherine thought of Vincent. Whether he was in the park tonight. Or was he sleeping now. She knew so little about the man he had become after she had disappeared from his life. What had Diana Bennett really meant to him? She had to think about the conversation of the evening with her son. As much as it hurt that another woman had been closer to Jacob than she herself had been able to as a mother, she was glad that someone had been there for him. But what about Vincent?

Jacob said he didn't love Diana, but she knew Vincent wasn't a man who didn't care about other people. She couldn't imagine Diana Bennett taking on the mother role for Jacob all these years without Vincent touching it. At some point, exhausted from her thoughts, she fell into a restless sleep.

She was dreaming. She went through the tunnels looking for something. She kept looking around as if she was afraid of being followed. Then she began to walk. She ran until she came into Vincent's chamber, but he wasn't there.

"Vincent," she called in the dream. "Where are you?"

Finally, he came into the chamber.

"Where were you? I was looking for you," she said to him.

"I know," he replied. "I'm looking for Jacob. He must help us."

"Us?" asked Catherine.

"Yes us," Vincent said, and suddenly another woman appeared behind him.

Shocked, Catherine drove up from her sleep.

"You're already up?" Jacob asked his mother when he entered the kitchen in Jenny Aronson's apartment. Completely unselfconscious, he stretched himself only dressed in T-shirts and boxer shorts.

Catherine perceived it only marginally. She sat at the table and leafed through the newspaper. She looked up. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked her son.

Jacob nodded and looked at his mother, who was already dressed. "You didn't happen to leave the apartment without telling me," he asked.

She smiled slightly at his strict tone. "Don't get upset. The newspaper was lying on the doormat in front of the apartment door." She poured him coffee. "I wanted to be ready when Jenny wake up and need me," she explained.

Jake nodded and was annoyed by his own tone of voice. He didn't want to be so harsh towards her. Somehow, he never quite managed to get rid of his mistrust. While he searched for words to put the conversation into normal channels, Catherine handed him the coffee.

"It's all right," she said quietly to him. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

Anger shot up again, triggered by an unusual uncertainty. How did she know if he had something to say or not?

She sat down again. "In the newspaper there is nothing new about the attack."

"That's not to be expected either," Jake tried to start a normal communication. "Either they don't have the guy yet, and if they do, they certainly won't go public with it immediately."

"Wouldn't that be better to calm people down," Catherine said. Then she gave herself a jolt. "I know you don't want to leave me alone, but..."

"You're damn right I didn't," Jake replied immediately.

She smiled slightly at him in the face of his obvious irritation. "You should talk to your father. I think he needs your help."

Astonished, Jake looked at her. "How do you know?"

She stared at the pages of the newspaper without really reading anything. "I can't tell you exactly. I think he wants to ask you something."

Jake looked at his mother suspiciously. "Is this a trick to get me out of the apartment?"

Now Catherine looked up angrily. "Absolutely not," she replied seriously. "When will you finally trust me?"

For a moment silence spread between them. Jake held his coffee in his hand and didn't know what to say. Was his mother mad at him?

"I will stay here in the apartment with Jenny," Catherine said quietly. "At least until her attorney arrives."

"I'm sorry," Jake said. He looked embarrassed for words. "I guess it's my job."

Catherine gave him a serious nod. "Or because you don't know me. I understand that."

Her voice sounded down and Jacob would have liked to do something to cheer her up. But he couldn't think of anything. "Then I go to Pa and ask him what's going on."

Catherine gave herself another jerk. "I dreamed it," she explained to her son.

Jake opened his mouth for a moment, as if to say something, but closed it again immediately. He drank his coffee, flew over the newspaper and then got dressed. The bias between him and his mother did not disappear. When he wanted to set off, he didn't know what to say.

"Take care," Catherine said to him.

Worried, Jake looked at his mother. "That's what I should say to you." He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I don't want anything to happen to you. Please let this attorney show you his ID at the door. The best thing would be for your friend to be awake when he shows up to..."

Catherine interrupted him with a slight smile. "Nothing will happen to me. Nobody else knows I'm here at all. Besides, I've been alone for years..."

Now she's been interrupted by her son. "... and coped with such situations. I know. But now you don't have to do this anymore." Hastily Jake pressed a kiss on her cheek and disappeared through the door to the outside.

Amazed, Catherine looked after him.

"Cathy?" The voice behind her sounded dull. She turned around.

"Jenny," she shouted and hurried to her friend.

_**New York; car; Jake (Jacob); Gerry Fisher**_

Jake rushed to the car he had parked the night before in the building's garage. He had left his mobile in the car by mistake. Looking at the display for incoming messages, he noticed that there was apparently no signal in the garage. He sat in the car and drove off. He wanted to stop somewhere near Central Park and take the tunnel entrance. That was the quickest way. While driving outside on the busy streets, his smartphone answered to indicate that news was now arriving. Almost at the same moment it rang. Jake pressed the hands-free button.

"Yes, hello," he shouted loudly and clearly.

"Chandler, where the hell are you?" The harsh voice of his boss sounded through the inside of the car.

Alarmed, Jake asked back. "Why? Did something happen?"

"I've been trying to reach you since tonight. Where are you now?" asked his boss.

Jake considered feverishly. "I'm in town." At least that wasn't a lie.

"You're not in your mother's apartment?" Gerry Fisher asked.

"No. Why?" Jake asked back.

"Is your mother with you?" his boss continued.

Jake looked at the hands-free kit nervously. For some reason he didn't want to answer that question. "Just tell me what's going on, Gerry. Why are you so upset?"

"Your mother's apartment was broken into last night," said Gerry Fisher finally. "It was only noticed during a tour of the night watchman. Nobody else wants to have noticed anything."

"How is that possible?" Jake asked immediately. "Somebody must have seen something."

"The door had been broken open and it looked pretty bad. As if he or they were looking for something," Gerry Fisher continued. "The security guard contacted me immediately and I sent two of our boys there. Since we hadn't seen anything of you and your mother, we thought you had been kidnapped. Or worse, you would have both been eliminated and your bodies set aside."

Jake now understood why his boss was so upset. "You don't have to worry. We're fine. Do you think it was someone from the Mafia again who wanted to kill my mother?"

"Hard to say. Maybe so," Gerry Fisher said. "Maybe this mess in the apartment was just to make it look like a burglary. When will your mother and you be back in the apartment?"

"Um," Jake was feverishly thinking. "We still have something to do in town. I can't say exactly when we'll be back. I'll get back to you, Gerry."

"You still owe me an explanation as to where you were last night," Gerry Fisher demanded.

"I'll explain that to you later," said Jake vaguely. "See you." With these words he ended the conversation.

Jake reassured himself that it had been better not to give too much information to his boss. After all, they didn't know who else was trustworthy at the FBI.

Instinctively, he kept driving. He briefly considered whether he should return to his mother. The danger she was in was apparently not averted. On the other hand, she wanted to stay with her friend, and no one else except his father knew where she was at the time. He decided to talk to his father first and stepped on the accelerator.

_**New York; in the tunnel under Central Park; Vincent and Jake (Jacob)**_

"We received a distress call yesterday. From 'Hells Kitchen'." Vincent came straight to the point after his son had breathlessly and nervously told him about the break-in into Catherine's apartment. "We suspect the message came from Marjorie."

Jacob frowned. "Are you sure?"

"As for Marjorie, yes," Vincent replied. "We just didn't manage to locate the message exactly."

They were standing at the tunnel entrance under Central Park. Jake walked restlessly up and down. He felt like he was on hot coals and wanted to get back to his mother as soon as possible.

"I thought you could check with the police to see if anything suspicious had been observed in the area in the last two days." Vincent understood his son's restlessness. He didn't feel comfortable with the thought that Catherine was on her own.

"Pa, actually, I want to go back as soon as possible. There's something wrong with this break-in into Mom's apartment. I'm only here because..." Now he stopped for a moment before continuing. "...because Mom asked me to."

Vincent looked at his son questioningly.

"She said she had dreamt that you needed my help," Jake continued.

Surprised, Vincent looked at him as if he couldn't really believe it. "Did she really say that?" he asked.

Jacob nodded. "Yes. At first I didn't want to believe her this morning."

Breathing heavily, Vincent leaned his back against the tunnel wall.

Concerned, Jacob looked at his father. "Pa, is everything all right?"

Slowly Vincent nodded and grabbed the rose in the leather bag he always wore around his neck and which Catherine had given him so many years ago. Could it be possible, he asked himself? Could this bond between them be recreated? Or had it possibly remained the same the whole time and only the events and the distance had made it impossible for him to consciously perceive it. Perhaps the human, rational knowledge of her supposed death had blocked his view of the irrational, but nevertheless possible things in life. He breathed heavily in and out.

Originally he had wanted a helper to bring a message to Jacob this morning. Then Jacob had reported himself through the pipes that he was in the tunnel under Central Park and urgently needed to speak to him.

"Pa, what do you think?" Jacob asked him again.

Vincent looked his son in the eye. "I think so slowly that anything is possible. I had already decided last night to send you a message today. And now you are standing here."

Jacob stopped for a moment. "You mean this connection between Mom and you..."

Vincent nodded. "Maybe it'll all come back."

Jake thought pragmatically. "What do we do now? Of course, I can ask the police, but..."

"We must help Marjorie," Vincent said. "Unfortunately, no further news came from her to further narrow the district. I send Danny and Geoffrey to your mother. Catherine knows them, and I can understand that she wants to help her friend."

Jacob nodded. "That's better than getting anybody from the FBI on the phone. I'd have a bad feeling about that. On the way to the police station, I briefly pass by Mom's apartment and see what exactly happened there," Jake informed his father about his plans. "Please send Danny and Geoffrey to Mom as soon as possible. Then I'll feel better."

Vincent nodded to him and disappeared through the secret door into the tunnels.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Jake (Jacob) and a stranger **_

Jake rushed back to the park. He had to be careful that nobody saw him coming out of the big tunnel opening. After all, it was daylight and he could do without unnecessary questions. Fortunately, it wasn't far to his mother's apartment and he decided to walk directly from the tunnel. He expected to find an FBI guard outside the building, but in vain. Also, in the foyer nobody was to be seen. No police who indicated that there had been a break-in in the building. He took the elevator upstairs. The door to the apartment had been broken open. It was hanging crooked in its hinges. Jacob carefully stepped into the apartment and looked at the chaos. Whoever it was had done a full job. Some of the furnishings had been shattered. Objects were scattered on the floor. He went on and looked into the kitchen and into the bedroom. He had to swallow. The bed had been sifted with bullets. He gritted his teeth grimly. The guys had only one intention.

At that moment he heard a noise from the front door. He turned around in alarm and ducked behind the next closet.

He heard nothing. Or almost nothing. His trained ears heard quiet footsteps, which he felt only through an almost silent vibration. Carefully Jake peered around the corner of the closet. In the living room he saw a man walking around with his weapon drawn. The gun was fitted with a silencer, and the dark clothes only gave rise to one suspicion in Jake. That was a professional killer.

Jake felt carefully for his own weapon. The feeling of the grip in his hand gave him security. Nevertheless, his pulse hammered all the way. He knew such people were ruthless and had no qualms about killing innocent people if they could get their job done. And he knew something else. He had to stop this guy. Carefully he looked around the corner one more time and was frightened. There was nothing more to see of this guy. Slowly Jacob straightened up from his squat, in his hands he held his weapon. His heart was beating up to his neck. Step by step he walked to the door leading into the living room. Slowly he peered in. The guy suddenly seemed to be gone. The next moment he received a blow to the arm, so he dropped his gun. From the corner behind the door a figure came off and aimed at him. Instinctively, Jake ducked and rammed his head into his opponent's stomach. Both men fell to the ground. Jake tried to wrest the gun from the guy's hand. Groan pervaded the room. Together they rolled around. Now the guy was above him and tried again to point the gun at him. Jake struggled to turn his opponent's arm away from him. He realized that one of them would die, and he didn't want to be the one. The guy grabbed his throat with his other hand and squeezed. As he struggled for air, Jake realized he was in a hopeless situation. It was only a short moment before his strength would weaken. For a moment he thought of his father and then of his mother. Hot rage rose up in him. The guy would kill his mother next, and he was the only one who could stop him. An animal roar escaped from his throat without him really being aware of it. Alarmed by this strange sound, his opponent paused for a fraction of a second. Jake took advantage of this moment and started up with seemingly inhuman strength. He escaped the grip and threw the guy away with brutal force. With the roar of a lion he jumped on the killer. A red veil lay before Jake's eyes, and nothing remained but this rage and urge to kill.

_**New York; Apartment of Jenny Aronson; Catherine, Jenny Aronson, Geoffrey, Danny, Robert Dalton**_

Catherine made her friend Jenny eat a few bites and drink a cup of strong coffee. Jenny still seemed apathetic. Several times she looked around the apartment as if she expected her husband to show up at any moment. Then she let her head hang, dejected. Catherine knew what it was like to lose a loved one. She felt with her friend.

"Have you known this attorney for a long time, this Robert Dalton?"

Jenny nodded slowly. "He is a friend of Linus and was his attorney even before we met. That's why he became our attorney, so to speak. Little by little I gave him my things, and now his office also takes care of the legal affairs of the publishing house."

"So you can trust him, then?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, of course. Bobby is really very competent, especially when it comes to legal matters that no normal person understands." Jenny became more alive in her remarks, for which Catherine was grateful.

Nevertheless, she wanted to wait in peace and get an idea of this lawyer. "Would you like to talk to him alone or..."

Jenny grabbed her by the arm involuntarily. "No, no. Please stay," she said. The next moment Jenny was trembling on Catherine's shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here." She sobbed, and Catherine handed her a handkerchief. "That's fate," Jenny continued. "All this is fate, isn't it? Thank you for being here."

Catherine held her friend in her arms. When Jenny regained her composure, they sat down again and Catherine gave her another cup of coffee. At that moment the doorbell rang.

"I'll go," Catherine said and rose.

She took a quick look at the clock. The attorney was very punctual. She opened the door expectantly and paused in amazement as she saw two men standing in the door smiling at her. She knew both of them. One, Jake's friend from the tunnels, only recently. The other for a very long time.

"Hello, good morning Catherine," Geoffrey greeted her and hugged her spontaneously.

Catherine was no longer used to such closeness to people, but felt all the more touched.

"Hello Mrs. Chandler," Danny greeted her more reservedly.

"Catherine please," she asked him. "What are you doing here? Has anything happened?"

"No," Geoffrey reassured immediately, "it's all right. We may have received an emergency call from the helper who is missing. Vincent asked Jacob to help."

Catherine nodded understanding. "And you?"

"We're here to protect you," Danny explained.

"So, Jacob and Vincent take care of finding Marjorie," Catherine asked.

Both men nodded.

"Jacob doesn't want to inform FBI to protect you. He probably fears that more..." Geoffrey left the sentence open.

"I understand," Catherine replied. "Would you like to come in?"

"We don't want to disturb," Danny said cautiously. "Vincent told us what happened to your friend..."

"You don't bother. But Jenny doesn't know anything about the tunnels, of course," Catherine explained. "Her attorney is on his way here, and I wanted to stay with her for that long."

"Then we'd better split up," Geoffrey said. "You go into the apartment and I'll stay here in the hallway." He hinted at Danny to go inside with her.

Catherine felt a little insecure and let Danny enter.

"Don't worry. We'll take care of you," Geoffrey said to her and went to the small table with the two chairs in the hallway.

Catherine nodded to him and closed the apartment door.

"Catherine, what's going on?" Jenny Aronson got up and came into the hallway. "Who is that?" she asked, looking at Danny.

"I'm Mrs. Chandler's bodyguard," Danny introduced himself professionally. He even made a servant.

"Oh," Jenny said.

"Jacob sent him," Catherine explained. "I hope it's all right for you."

"Yes, of course," Jenny said slowly.

In her condition, she didn't really realize that the man in front of her didn't exactly look like an FBI agent.

"My sincere condolences, Mrs. Aronson," Danny said in a formal tone of voice.

Jenny nodded again. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked automatically.

Danny smiled friendly. "No thanks."

"Do you want ..." Jenny now hesitated.

Danny nodded understandingly to Catherine. "I just find myself a seat. Best, you don't even notice me."

Catherine nodded back briefly and hoped Danny would recognize the unspoken 'thank you' in her eyes.

"What do you mean. The money's gone?" Jenny sat distraught on the couch.

Catherine sat next to her and held her hand compassionately. Opposite them sat Robert Dalton, the attorney. In front of him he had spread out some documents. He had been punctual and had expressed his deepest condolences and sympathy to Jenny. It could be seen to him that he himself had to struggle with the fact that a good friend of his had died in this terrible assassination. And he felt visibly uncomfortable in his skin in the face of the facts he had just told Jenny. Restlessly he pushed the documents back and forth.

"Linus had made a few transactions," Robert Dalton said.

"What kind of transactions?" asked Jenny in consternation. "He always discussed everything with me."

"He invested in a few risky transactions," Robert Dalton replied. He took a deep breath before continuing. "He gambled a little, to be precise." The attorney paused for a moment because he didn't know how to get it across gently. "The companies he had invested in have either gone bankrupt or have clearly lost value."

"But...", stammered Jenny, "how is that possible?"

"I thought he had talked to you about it." Robert Dalton sighed. "Apparently he didn't."

"That means the private fortune of the two is gone?" asked Catherine firmly.

„As good as. The fortune is still estimated at about two or three thousand dollars. I had drawn Linus' attention to the seriousness of the situation. Your apartment is encumbered with a mortgage. And your publishing house..."

"What about Jenny's publishing house?" Catherine asked.

Robert Dalton looked down nervously.

"Robert, what about my publishing house?" Jenny's voice sounded nervous and alarmed.

"Your publishing house was given as a guarantee to the bank for the losses incurred." Robert Dalton knew what that meant.

"But I don't know anything about that," Jenny outraged herself. "I should know about something like that. I didn't sign anything like that."

The attorney took a deep breath and then pulled a piece of paper from his files.

Catherine recognized it with her trained eyes as a certificate of surety. She took it and briefly flew over the contents. "Jenny, it says here that you commit yourself to pay with your entire fortune for possible losses arising from stock transactions."

"That... that can't be. I didn't sign that." Helplessly Jenny looked from one to the other. "Then someone forged my signature."

Catherine exchanged a short look with Robert Dalton. It was clear to both of them that Jenny had more to cope with than her husband's death. She also had to realize that he hadn't always been honest. Catherine brought Robert Dalton to the door.

"You take care of Jenny," the attorney asked.

Catherine nodded. "And you take care of Jenny getting out of this mess."

"That's going to be hard enough." The attorney sighed again. "I'll take care of the funeral first and then save the publishing house."

Both said goodbye to each other by mutual agreement.

Outside in the hallway, Danny and Geoffrey sat together at the small, round table. This brought Catherine's thoughts back to her own affairs. It made her nervous that she didn't hear from her son. She felt that something was wrong.

"Has Jacob contacted you?" asked Catherine.

Geoffrey and Danny shook their heads.

"Do you think he's in trouble?" Geoffrey asked.

Catherine wanted to say no, but then she takes a second thought. Geoffrey had lived in the tunnels since his childhood. He belonged to the family. She finally had to put aside her mistrust and trust the people who protected her.

"It may sound strange, but I somehow feel that something is wrong," she said openly.

Danny pulled out his mobile phone. "I'll call him." Shortly afterwards he said. "No signal. Either he's turned off his phone or he's somewhere where he has no signal."

Geoffrey nodded reassuringly to Catherine. "There is no signal in the tunnels. That's why we're still safe there, despite the modern technology."

Catherine nodded to him, but was still not reassured. She didn't want to overreact, but still worried. Hours had passed in the meantime. Because of her injuries Jenny lay down again after the attorney had left.

_**New York; car in traffic jam; Joe Maxwell**_

Joe Maxwell drummed nervously with his fingers on the steering wheel. He stood in a traffic jam and cursed inwardly. He was on his way to Jenny Aronson, although he had no time. At first, he didn't want to believe it when he read her name among the injured in the Carnegie Hall's amok run. As New York's prosecutor, the investigations into the assassination were running over his desk. The mayor of New York and the entire public pushed for a quick investigation and arrest of the killer. Together with his closest associates, he had been busy since this tragedy to shed light on the matter. Therefore, he had not been able to deal with the second problem that had arisen this morning. Catherine's apartment had been broken into. Fortunately, she herself had not been present, as he had learned from an FBI agent afterwards. Her son had contacted the FBI and said that his mother was safe. Nevertheless, Joe Maxwell was worried. There was much mysterious about Catherine, and he knew that she had never really been completely open with him. The phone rang and Joe immediately pressed the hands-free button.

"Maxwell," he shouted.

"Mr. Maxwell, I know we should only call you in urgent cases, but there's something important." Anna Stanton, his assistant, was on the phone.

"Did it have to do with the assassination?" he asked into the device.

"No," Anna Stanton replied.

"Then it can't be so important," he said harshly.

"But Mr. Maxwell," said his assistant. "It's about Catherine Chandler's apartment."

Suddenly, Joe's neck hairs started to stand up. "Is there anything wrong with Mrs. Chandler? Or her son?"

"Not as far as I know. But someone at the police station called. A body was found in Mrs. Chandler's apartment."

"What?" Joe Maxwell asked in disbelief. "This morning it was just a burglary and now..."

"Yes," Anna Stanton interrupted him. "The security guard noticed during his work that the defective entrance door was open. When he checked the apartment, he discovered the body. It's supposed to look bad. I thought you were already on your way to your acquaintance anyway. Maybe you'd like to drive past?"

Joe didn't think long. He saw how the traffic jam dissolved in front of him. "All right, Anna. Thank you for informing me."

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; Joe Maxwell, a police officer**_

"It looks really bad," said the local detective.

Joe nodded seriously. "Have you heard anything from Mrs. Chandler?"

"Just what we know about this guy from the FBI, Gerry Fisher. Her son is with her, and she's safe. But we don't know where she is right now."

Joe Maxwell nodded grimly. Inside, he cursed the secrecy that Catherine made about her private life. The next time he met her, he'd have a serious word with her. Nevertheless, this time it seemed to be right that she had gone into hiding. Joe stood in Catherine's apartment and looked at the dead man who had been horribly battered. He looked as if he had been attacked by a wild animal.

"Is there anything from forensics yet?" he asked.

The police officer shook his head. "There are fingerprints, of course, but those of Mrs. Chandler and her son. And that's not uncommon, because they both live in this apartment."

"And what about the tracks from last night?" Joe asked further.

"The FBI took care of that," the crime expert replied.

"And why isn't any of them here now?" asked Joe Maxwell.

"We tried to reach this Gerry Fisher. Unfortunately, he's not answering the phone at the moment and..."

"None of this works," Joe interrupted the man. "What did the security guard say?"

"He is still in shock. He was surprised that the apartment door was a bit open. When he entered the apartment, he saw the victim."

"Here's a gun with a silencer," called a policeman who searched the floor for suspicious objects.

The gun was carefully packed in a plastic bag.

"The balcony door is only leaned," said another policeman and pushed the door outside. Joe and the police officer followed him out. A chair was lying on the ground. The men looked over the balustrade down to the bustling city. Joe walked to the side. There stood an old shrub with its branches bent. He looked up towards the roof.

"Do you think the killer, or whatever it was, escaped over the roof?" asked the detective.

Joe nodded thoughtfully. "Well possible. You'd have to be very mobile, but it's definitely doable."

"What should we do now?" asked the detective.

"Get the body to the autopsy to determine the exact cause of death. Search the apartment again very thoroughly. And try to reach this FBI man, this Gerry Fisher." Joe's instructions were clear and unambiguous.

The detective nodded to him.

With one last look at the horrible crime scene, Joe Maxwell left the apartment. On the way back to his car, he thought about how to reach Catherine. Damn it. She had to work with him. She knew she could trust him. He briefly considered going back to his office and contacting the FBI himself, but there the hunt for the assassin had top priority. So, he decided to implement his original plan.

_**New York; in a cellar of a house; Marjorie**_

Marjorie wavered between awake moments and unconsciousness. She trembled. It was so terribly cold. Timothy had not appeared again. She was hungry and thirsty. And it was quiet. In the moments when she was awake and did not dawn, thoughts raced wildly through her head. What if he didn't come back? She would die. Down here in this basement. Cold fear crept up in her. In vain she had searched the basement for another object with she could have knocked on the pipe. She sat on the cold floor, her head leaned against the wall. The unpleasant smell of urine ran through the room. At first, she had called for Timothy when she felt an urgent need. When he didn't come, she hadn't known how to help herself but to urinate in a corner of the room.

Time blurred in her exhaustion. More and more she lost herself in a state of absence. She dawned and hardly noticed how someone was walking along the corridor outside. Only when a door fell loudly into the lock did she wake up from her lethargy. Had she only dreamed this? She got up. Her cold limbs no longer wanted to obey the mind, and so it took time for her to finally stand at the door.

"Hello," she cautiously shouted with a croaking voice.

She wanted to make herself noticed and at the same time feared that her ex-husband would come back and be even more angry with her.

It was no use. She needed help or she would die here.

"Hello," she shouted louder this time. "Is anyone there?"

Silence. Exhausted, Marjorie leaned her head against the door. Then she heard a key and footsteps again. With both hands she hammered at the door.

"Hello! Can anyone hear me? Help!"

Nobody could walk past the cellar door without hearing the loud shouting.

_**New York; apartment of Jenny Aronson; Catherine, Joe Maxwell, Geoffrey, Danny**_

Joe Maxwell paused when he stepped out of the elevator. He had actually wanted to go straight to Jenny's apartment, but he was blocked by a tall, dark-haired man in his late thirties or early forties.

The man asked, "Who would you like to see, please?"

"I'm on my way to Jenny Aronson," Joe replied in amazement.

"And who are you?" he was promptly asked further.

Now it became too colorful for Joe. He pulled out his ID card, which identified him as a New York DA. "The question is who are you?" He looked at the man provocatively.

At that moment the door to Jenny's apartment opened.

"Joe," Catherine shouted in surprise.

"Cathy. Who is this guy here?" Joe looked at her in amazement.

Catherine immediately grasped the situation, but didn't want to make long explanations in the hallway. "Come in first." She waved Joe in. "It's all right, Geoffrey," she said to the man.

Hesitantly, Joe followed her and entered Jenny's apartment. For a moment he looked back at the man.

"Take off your jacket," Catherine asked him.

Still surprised, Joe obeyed her. "How long have you been here?"

"Since yesterday," Catherine replied.

"Where's Jenny?" Joe asked.

"She is resting. She has a concussion," Catherine informed him.

"This guy out there..."

"He's watching over me," Catherine interrupted him.

"Is he FBI?" Joe continued.

"No," it came just from Catherine.

"But... is he a cop?"

"No, not that either," Catherine replied.

"But ..." Joe was about to object.

"Joe," Catherine shouted louder now. "There's nothing wrong with the man. He is a friend. Just like Danny." She pointed to the blonde man who was leafing through a magazine on the couch.

Now he stood up and politely shook Joe's hand. "Good afternoon, sir."

Joe looked suspicious at the guy and automatically shook his hand.

Danny looked briefly at Catherine. "I'm going outside to see Geoffrey." Understandingly he nodded to her.

When the door had fallen into the lock behind Danny, Catherine pointed to the couch. "Why don't you sit down, Joe?"

With another suspicious look towards the door through which Danny had disappeared, he sat down.

"I suppose you wanted to see Jenny," Catherine started the conversation. "How did you find out?"

"I saw her name on the list of the injured. And her husband's among the victims." Joe looked serious. "How is she?"

"Not well," Catherine replied. "She is traumatized, of course. In addition, the death of her husband and..."

"And what else?" Joe asked.

"Her attorney was here today, but that's another story." Catherine didn't want to tell Joe all the details.

That brought Joe back to his other problem. He looked around searching. "Where is your son? Shouldn't he take care of you?"

"He has that too. We were both here last night because I didn't want to leave Jenny alone." Catherine felt this feeling again that something was wrong. "Why do you ask? Is anything happened?"

"So, then you don't know?" Joe asked back.

The unpleasant feeling grew in Catherine. "What do I not know? Joe, what's going on? Is there anything wrong with Jacob?"

Joe automatically shook his head. "Not that I know of. I assumed he was with you. Last night your apartment was broken into. The FBI took care of it. This morning one of them called your son about it, but only got the statement that you were safe."

"Jacob had something to do this morning," Catherine replied evasively. "But there's more, isn't there?"

Joe nodded seriously and briefly described the dead man discovered in her apartment.

"The police are faced with a riddle. The dead man was brutally killed, as if he had been attacked by a tiger", he concluded his description.

Catherine stared in confusion and said nothing. A thousand thoughts raced through her head.

_**New York; in a house in Hells Kitchen; the assassin**_

He had slept for a long time, which was no wonder, since he had been awake for almost two days at a time. First he had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the television. At some point he woke up from the uncomfortable posture. He had switched off the television so as not to draw the attention of his neighbors unnecessarily. In the end he didn't know what kind of habits the guy had had who had lived here and who was now lying around cold and dead in the hallway. He staggered tiredly through the rooms until he had found the bedroom. He just took off his shoes and let himself fall onto the bed. He was so terribly tired.

When he awoke it was daytime, and bright light penetrated through the windows into the apartment. An unpleasant smell rose into his nose. He sniffed. Then the events of last night occurred to him. The police car, his hasty escape into a cellar. The guy he had killed. Did the stench come from him?

He rolled off the bed. He had to pee urgently. Then he slipped into the kitchen in the hope that the fridge would still give him something. There wasn't much left. He drank some juice from the cardboard box. He went into the living room and looked out the window. The apartment was on the ground floor, so he could see the sidewalk.

He was irritated when he noticed that several people stood in front of the house and gesticulated wildly. An elderly man spoke with hands and feet and then pointed to the house. Reflexively, he turned away from the window and hid in the corner to the wall, from where he continued to watch the action outside. People seemed excited. Again and again some pointed in the direction of the house. When he looked closer, he noticed that people were looking at the basement entrance. Sweat broke out. Had anyone seen him kick in the door last night? Or had someone been watching him in the hallway when he had killed the guy? His breathing became hectic. He had to leave.

Outside the house, people were standing, and it seemed like more and more. When a patrol car came down the street and stopped in front of the house, his breath stopped. They wanted to him.

"Fuck" he shouted loudly. Then he reached for his gun.

_**New York; Police station; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Dick Spencer**_

"Aren't you the FBI agent who investigated the counterfeit art case?" Dick Spencer looked curiously at the man in front of him.

"Yes, that's right," Jacob replied, reaching out his hand to the policeman.

Dick Spencer still looked a little surprised at the casual clothes of his counterpart. "We know each other."

"Yes, you evaluated the camera recordings from the museum." Jake thanked his good memory.

"Well, are you here on duty?" Dick Spencer asked doubtingly and still wondered that Jake hadn't appeared in a suit and tie as an FBI agent, but was wearing jeans, shirt and leather jacket. "Or..."

"More or less," Jake replied evasively. "I know you're probably working flat out to find the gunman."

"You can bet your life on it," Dick Spencer replied.

"How's it going?" Jake asked to break the ice through conversation. "Is there already a hot trail?"

Dick Spencer shook his head resignedly. "Not at the moment. The guy seems to have swallowed off the face of the earth. All available forces are in use." Abruptly he was silent again. "Of course, that's confidential," he added.

Jake nodded understandingly. "I know. That's why I'm not here."

"Why then?" Dick Spencer asked curiously.

"Was there anything special in Hells Kitchen last night?" Jake asked directly. "Any disturbance of rest by knocking or something like that," he explained further.

Dick Spencer looked at him in surprise. "We had a mission there, my partner and I, because a patrol car crew thought they saw the assassin."

"Where exactly was that?" Jake asked.

The policeman took out the card and showed it to Jake. "But we didn't see anything suspicious."

"Really?" Jake asked suspiciously. "You didn't see anything and you didn't hear anything?"

Dick Spencer flinched briefly as he thought of something. "Indeed," he replied.

At that moment the phone rang.

_**New York; Apartment of Jenny Aronson; Catherine, Jenny Aronson**_

Catherine was grateful that someone from Jenny's publishing house came forward. Although Joe hadn't had much time, he stayed until Jenny woke up. The two shared a few words. You could notice Joe's regret and his helplessness.

"We'll get the son of a bitch," he promised Jenny before he left and sounded anything but convinced.

"Get him ready." Jenny's voice sounded weak with this answer.

As soon as Joe was gone, Jenny called her assistant. Celia Jenkins immediately agreed to come to Jenny's home when she heard that her boss was among the injured from the assassination. They waited together for the arrival of Celia Jenkins. Catherine sat on hot coals. She wanted to leave. She didn't know where her son had gone. And she had to go to Vincent because she was afraid, he might have something to do with the dead man in her apartment. She hadn't told Jenny about it. Her friend was far too vulnerable to the blow of fate she had suffered.

"You certainly want to go home," Jenny said. Her voice already sounded stronger, and she began to think pragmatically. She reached for Catherine's hand. "I am infinitely grateful to you for being there for me for the last few hours. I wouldn't have known what to do alone." She hesitated briefly. "Maybe I would have done something to myself."

"Don't talk such nonsense," Catherine said.

The friends hugged each other briefly.

"But I know that ..." Jenny's voice broke off abruptly. She shook herself as if to shake off the horror that had happened to her. Then she said calmly, "Celia will stay with me. She is a faithful soul and has already gone through thick and thin with me in the publishing house."

"Are you sure?" asked Catherine.

Jenny nodded. "Yes. Then you can go home and put on fresh clothes and..." She broke off abruptly.

Catherine asked herself how much Jenny might have guessed about her complex and complicated life. "I can take care of my son," she just said.

With suddenly awake and curious eyes Jenny looked at her. "Yes. Your son. You never mentioned him at the few times we had contact with each other in the past years."

"No," Catherine replied and turned her gaze away. "That's a long story."

"One you'll tell me at some point?"

Catherine looked at her friend. "Maybe someday." But she didn't believe in it herself.

Then the doorbell rang. Celia Jenkins came and Catherine left her friend's house with Geoffrey and Danny.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent**_

Vincent felt an inner restlessness within. This was not surprising considering the news Jacob had given him. Geoffrey and Daniel, of course, left immediately to protect Catherine. Vincent cursed his inactivity. He could only wait. As he got tired of wandering through the tunnels and Pascal sent him out of the pipe chamber, annoyed by his visible restlessness, he sat down in his chamber hoping Shakespeare would dissuade him from his worries. But the restlessness remained. He had to trust Geoffrey and Daniel to take care of Catherine. But why didn't he hear from Jacob? Vincent put the book aside and tried to activate his senses. He tried to reach the part within himself that distinguished him from all others, just as his appearance did. He tried to feel his son the way he had always been able to. But nothing. Jacob remained hidden to him in a way Vincent had never experienced before. He did not know what his son was thinking or feeling at that moment. He couldn't even tell where he was, and that was something absolutely new for Vincent. Once more he listened into himself, but everything remained dark. Had he finally lost the bond to his son? Desperately he closed his eyes.

Suddenly he sat upright again in the armchair, for he felt something. Someone wanted to see him, but it wasn't Jacob. He didn't have to think. His instinct immediately told him it was Catherine. And at that moment Vincent realized that he had lost the bond to his son and instead regained the connection to Catherine. He hurriedly took his coat and left the chamber.

_**New York; house in Hells Kitchen; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Dick Spencer, policemen, several people, Marjorie**_

"A patrol car is already on its way," Dick Spencer said hurriedly to Jake. Both rushed to a vehicle.

"Are you sure it's the same area last night where you thought you heard a gunshot?" Jake asked.

They got into the car, which Dick Spencer immediately started.

"Yes. Absolutely. However, I'm not one hundred percent sure it really was a shot," he explained

Just when Dick Spencer wanted to tell the FBI agent what he and his partner Dale had experienced the night before in Hells Kitchen, the call had come. A woman's calls for help had been heard from the basement of a residential building. When Dick heard the address, he knew it was exactly where he and Dale had been tracking the suspect. While driving, he informed Jacob Chandler of everything that had happened.

It was not difficult to find the house in the street. When Dick Spencer and Jake Chandler turned into the street, they already saw a cluster of people standing on the sidewalk. Two patrol cars were standing in front of it. Dick stopped his car behind the last patrol car and the two men got out. Two policemen stood between the people, trying to calm them down.

"Dick Spencer from the police station," said the detective, holding up his badge. Jake also took out his badge, but no one paid attention.

"What's going on?" Dick Spencer asked one of the patrolmen.

"Two of us are down in the basement," a policewoman replied. "The cellar door was broken open and someone heard a woman calling for help. That's why we were informed."

„You should keep people at a distance as long as it is not clear what is in the cellar," said Dick. He himself knew how difficult it was to keep the gawpers at a distance. Some had already pulled out their mobile phones and filmed the cellar door and the policemen.

"You said two of you were already downstairs," Jake asked again.

The cop nodded.

"Come on," Jake said to Dick Spencer. "Let's get a look ourselves."

As they walked through the burst door, a dim light fell on them. In the dark hallway stood another policeman.

Dick held his badge against him. "Have you found anything yet?"

The man shook his head. "A woman is calling from one of the basement rooms, but the door is locked." He nodded to his colleague into the corridor standing in front of a door.

"Stay calm," the other shouted loudly through the locked door. "We are from the police. We'll get you out of here."

To be on the safe side, Jake tried to open the door himself, but it was closed.

"Someone here in the house should have the keys to this basement," Dick said.

"As far as I know, everyone is standing outside on the sidewalk," said the other policeman.

"Then you should ask for the key," Dick said annoyed.

The two policemen nodded and went outside.

Meanwhile Jake shook the door hard.

"Do you hear me?" a faint voice sounded from the room behind.

Jake recognized her anyway. "Marjorie," he shouted now loudly. "Is that you?"

For a moment there was silence. Then a weak "Yes" sounded.

"Damn it," Jake muttered under his breath. Then he shouted loudly. "Stay calm, Marjorie. We'll get you out."

Dick Spencer came to Jake curious. "Do you know the person in there?"

"Yes," Jake replied, looking around the basement hallway. "Help me find anything we can use to break the door open."

"Maybe we better wait and see if one of the residents does have the key." Even before he had finished the sentence, Dick Spencer realized that he had made a mistake. "Shit," he said out loud.

Jake nodded to him. "The one with the key is unlikely to show up here and admit he locked up a woman."

Jake shook the other doors. The second one opened. He pressed the light switch and looked around. Fortunately, he found a crowbar. He ran back in a hurry to free Marjorie.

"Help me," he asked the crime expert.

Together they tried to lever the door with the crowbar.

"It's pretty stable," said Dick Spencer, as they briefly released.

"Let's try it again," Jake said, "maybe I can kick it in."

Together they tried until the door gave way with a groan and loud cracking. The lock still held, but the door had warped so far that it would have to give way slightly.

"Marjorie," Jake shouted louder again. "Walk away from the door a bit."

"All right", it came back weakly.

With full force Jake kicked the door in, which fell to the ground with a thud. Jake entered the room, which was filled with a foul and unpleasant smell. In the corner there was a figure crouching.

"Marjorie!" He hurried to her. "Are you all right?"

Dirty and half frozen, she looked at him. It took a moment until she recognized him. "Jacob. How..." She couldn't find words.

Jake gently lifted her up. "Come with me. We need to get you to a hospital." He took off his jacket and slipped it over her.

"But..." stammered Marjorie. "Timothy."

"What?" asked Jake as they walked past Dick Spencer together, who looked at the woman in horror.

"Timothy, my ex-husband. He..."

"Did he bring you here?" asked Jake.

She nodded almost imperceptibly, followed by a weak "yes".

"What's the guy's name?" Dick Spencer asked and pulled out his mobile to pass on the information.

Together they went through the basement to the outer door of the street to get outside. Shortly before they reached the door, loud screams suddenly came from the street. Then they heard shots.

Someone screamed "Take cover" loudly. Probably one of the policemen.

More shots followed. The three automatically ducked together in the basement.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine, Geoffrey, Danny, Vincent**_

"What if Jacob comes back to your friend's apartment in the meantime?" Geoffrey asked.

Catherine didn't answer immediately. She went purposefully through the dimly lit tunnels to the inner inhabited area.

"He'll know I'm not there anymore," she replied.

Geoffrey and Danny followed her, which was not easy. Catherine set a pace you wouldn't expect from a woman her age. When they reached the inner area and passed one of the guards, Catherine felt that Vincent was coming towards them. She didn't think about it any further. There was something else that completely controlled her thoughts.

Why had he done that? There had to be a reasonable reason why Vincent had been in her apartment. Had he perhaps surprised an intruder? Had he been worried? It was no use pondering any further. She had to ask him herself.

The two men remained silent behind her and tried to keep up with her. When she had explained to them that she had to go to Vincent immediately, they had looked questioning and helpless, but had gone with her to the next inconspicuous and safe entrance to the tunnels. Danny had wanted to say something briefly, but Geoffrey had stopped him with one hand on his arm. He knew Catherine and knew it had to be important if she asked so vehemently.

They turned around the next corner of the tunnel and Vincent came towards them.

Instead of a greeting or hug, Catherine just said, "I need to talk to you."

"Is there something wrong with Jacob?" Vincent asked alarmed because he was worried about his son.

Catherine paused irritated for a moment. "Not that I know of. I haven't seen him since this morning when he was on his way to see you."

Vincent was thinking. "Come into my chamber." He nodded briefly to Danny and Geoffrey. "Thanks for your help."

The two men felt that the couple wanted to be alone. They nodded to the two and then moved away.

"I thought you'd know where Jacob was right now," Catherine said as they went to Vincent's chamber together.

Vincent looked at her strangely from the side. He had noticed that she hadn't touched him yet and hadn't taken his hand either. "I can't feel him anymore."

Catherine stopped in fright. "What do you mean?" The fear was clearly noticeable to her. "Do you think something happened to him?"

"I don't know," Vincent replied resignedly. They had both stopped and Vincent looked deep into her eyes. "I can no longer feel him. I don't know where he is at the moment."

"But" asked Catherine, who noticed that there was more.

"Catherine, I can feel you." Vincent looked seriously at the woman he loved. "I noticed that you were on your way to me. Jacob told me that you had dreamed that I needed his help. And indeed, I had decided last night to contact him today and ask him for help in the search for Marjorie."

"That is, you..." Catherine fell silent when she understood.

"It looks like our bond is back. I can feel you. That's why the bond is with him..." Vincent's voice broke off.

Slowly they went on. Catherine understood that there was a change in their relationship. In the relationship between her and Vincent, but also between Vincent and his son. Something strange happened that couldn't be explained.

Once in Vincent's chamber, she remembered why she had come here.

"Why were you in my apartment today killing a man?" she asked suddenly. Her words were hard. She saw it in Vincent's reaction, which looked at her stunned. "I mean, you must have had a reason, I'm sure."

"Catherine, I..." Vincent took a few steps back from her. "I wasn't in your apartment today."

"Joe told me... there was a dead man in my apartment who... and I thought of you." She broke off completely confused.

Vincent understood. "Did he say who the dead man was?" he asked nervously.

Catherine shook her head. "No. Why?"

Vincent began to walk restlessly up and down. "Jacob told me this morning about a burglary last night. He wanted to drive by and see what had happened."

Both looked at each other in horror.

_**New York; House in Hells Kitchen; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Dick Spencer, policemen, Marjorie, the assassin**_

Jake pushed Marjorie into a corner of the dark basement. "Stay here and don't move."

Marjorie nodded anxiously, then watched Jake went outside through door with the other man. But they only came up half the stairs as the bullets flew around their ears. Both pulled out their weapons.

"Blimey, what's going on?" Dick Spencer shouted out loud.

When a brief ceasefire came in, Jake looked over the edge of the stairs. Two people lay on the sidewalk and didn't move. The police and most of the onlookers had taken cover behind one of the patrol cars and looked spellbound at the apartment on the ground floor.

Dick looked over Jake's shoulder. He shouted "What's going on" to the two policemen behind the patrol car.

"We wanted to go into the house to ask for the keys to the basement door. Someone suddenly shot out of the window on the ground floor."

"Call for backup," Dick ordered. "Where are the other two?"

"They're pure," the police woman replied.

As soon as she had said it, shots rang out from inside the house.

Jake waved Dick Spencer with him. "Come on. Maybe we can find our way through the basement to the stairwell of the house."

Dick Spencer took another look back and saw that the police woman was calling for backup over the radio.

"Marjorie, just stay down here," Jake said to the frightened woman.

She nodded and trembled. Did the nightmare never stop?

The two men rushed through the cellar corridor. At the end they found a stairway leading up to the ground floor. A corridor opened in front of them, at the end of which one of the policemen lay lifeless on the ground. There was a door open in front of him, and voices could be heard inside the apartment. Jake and Dick Spencer crept silently to the injured man. Dick felt the pulse and then shook his head regretfully. Jake already had his back to the wall next to the door and indicated to Dick to follow him. Together they entered the apartment.

"Give up. You don't stand a chance." That had to be the other policeman.

Dick and Jake slowly crept up to the voices coming from one of the rooms. In the hallway they almost stumbled across a lifeless person lying there. Both were aware of the seriousness of the situation.

"You won't get me", a hectic voice sounded now. "I'll kill you all."

With these words Jake and Dick stormed into the room. The sudden appearance of more armed men let the madman pull the trigger. Jake and Dick shot immediately. Not just once, but several times, until the assassin sank together and stopped moving. The other policeman held his arm. Jake ran to the assassin with his gun drawn. Then he bent down and turned the guy on his back.

"Dead," he said to the other two.

"Is it bad?" asked Dick the other cop.

"I'll survive," he replied. "What about my partner?"

Dick shook his head sadly as an answer.

"Damn," the policeman exclaimed. Then he staggered to the dead murderer. "Who the hell is this guy?"

Outside, more police cars with loud sirens drove up. Jake shoved his gun back into the holster. He had to go to Marjorie and bring her to safety.

"Maybe you should have listened to your feeling last night," he told Dick Spencer as he passed him.

Dick nodded seriously and followed Jake out.

A large contingent of police had come and a special task force. Emergency vehicles were also on site. Jake took Marjorie out of the cellar and took her to one of the ambulances. The police took over the forensics. Jake and Dick Spencer had to answer questions. Jake left it mainly to the New York detective to describe the course of events. He looked nervously at the watch. It was late afternoon and actually he would have wanted to be back with his mother long ago.

It turned out that Marjorie's ex-husband Timothy had lived in the house on the ground floor and had kidnapped and locked her up. Since Marjorie knew Jake, it was understandable that Jake had contacted Dick Spencer out of concern about Marjorie's disappearance. He went inside the house with the woman, where she had to identify the body of her ex-husband. Then she collapsed. Jake brought her back to an ambulance to take her to the nearest hospital. Before the vehicle left, Marjorie called him back.

"What is it?" He bent down questioningly to the completely exhausted woman.

"It was because of the picture," she whispered quietly without anyone noticing. "He had something to do with the people who wanted the picture. It was I who sent it into the tunnels to Vincent."

Jake put his hand on her arm to calm her down. "I know, Marjorie. Rest now. I'll take care of everything else."

He nodded to the people from the ambulance.

When he got out of the ambulance, Dick Spencer was waiting for him. "Guess who the other guy with the gun was?"

"You'll tell me for sure in a minute," Jake said.

"The crazy killer from Carnegie Hall," Dick Spencer replied.

Jake looked at the investigator surprised. "What? How did he get here?"

"He probably walked around here fleeing from the police. Dale and I had been on the right track last night." Dick Spencer seemed contrite and depressed. "If we had taken the clues more seriously, none of this would have happened."

"Don't blame yourself," Jake said. "No one could have guessed."

"How is your friend?" asked Dick.

"She's been battered by the last few days in the basement, and I think she's in shock." Jake looked around. Forensics was at work. The assassin had also killed one of the passers-by on the sidewalk. "Do you still need me here?"

"I don't think so. You'll have to make your statement sometime," said Dick Spencer.

"You know you can reach me through the FBI," Jake said. "I better get to my mother."

Understanding, Dick nodded and pointed to his car. "Should I take you somewhere?"

"Thank you. Not necessary," Jake refused.

Of course, he wanted to see his mother as soon as possible because he knew that she was still in danger, but before that he had to inform his father that Marjorie was safe. He called a taxi and disappeared.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Catherine, Jacob**_

"Come with me," Vincent just said and hurried off.

"Where are you going?" asked Catherine as she ran after him.

"To Geoffrey. He's supposed to go to the apartment with Danny and you. I'll come across the balcony."

"It's not dark yet," Catherine disagreed and held him by the arm.

Vincent stopped and looked at her upset.

"It's too dangerous for you," Catherine continued. "Let me check with Geoffrey and Danny. Then I can call Joe and see if they've found out anything about the dead guy."

Vincent wanted to say something at first, but then nodded resignedly. Spontaneously they embraced each other. Then he took her by the hand. As they turned the next corner, they stopped abruptly as their son stood in front of them.

"Mom," Jake said surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." began Catherine, then she noticed his casual outfit.

"Are you all right?" Vincent asked and grabbed his son by both shoulders.

"Yes, of course," Jake replied and looked alternately from his father to his mother.

"We were worried about you," said Catherine. "A body was found in my apartment and..."

"I know," Jake replied briefly. "I have good news. Marjorie is well. We found her. She had been kidnapped by her ex-husband."

"For what?" asked Catherine.

Now Jacob looked at his father for the first time. "You were right. She had sent the drawing of you two into the tunnels." Jake briefly told his parents what had happened and what he had found out. "She is now in hospital and being treated there."

The three slowly went back to Vincent's chamber.

"Why are you here" Jake asked his mother.

"Joe Maxwell had been with Jenny and had told me about the dead man and..." Catherine replied.

"Do you think you can sleep another night with your friend?" asked her son.

"Her assistant from the publishing house is with her. I thought we were going to my..."

She was interrupted. "Mom, your apartment looks bad. Besides, you're not safe there anymore." Her son looked at her seriously.

Catherine eyed her son. "Maybe you could come with me so I can get some things."

"Just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you," Jacob said harshly.

"If I understood Joe correctly, the dead man has long since been taken away," Catherine objected, "and besides, I'm not so softly strung that..."

"Mom, they're not gonna rest until you're dead." Jake's voice had become loud.

"Jake," Vincent said sharply to his son.

"Pa, it's serious," Jake said calmly this time.

Catherine saw Jacob tremble, but she didn't dare to talk to him about it. "Then I'll stay here tonight."

"Yes, that's the best," Vincent confirmed, looking questioningly at his son.

He just nodded and stared at the floor. With his foot he drew circles in the dust, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Jacob? asked Catherine gently. "Is everything all right?"

Jacob nodded absent as an answer. Then he looked up. "I have to go away again and do something. Don't worry." With it he hurried out.

_**New York; Hotel; Rebecca Rose, Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

"Hello, Jake." Rebecca seemed amazed. "I... I wasn't expecting you." She stood in her hotel room dressed just in a bathrobe.

"I know. Maybe I should have called before," he said, but he didn't look her in the eye.

"Did anything happen?" asked Rebekka. "I heard about this terrible rampage on the news."

"Yes," Jake said absent. "A bad thing." He looked around the whole room as if he was looking for something. "We need to talk."

"Yes?" Rebekka looked at him hopefully. "Is your mother all right?"

"Yes, yes," Jake replied irrelevantly.

"What's the matter? I mean, I followed the instructions and didn't leave the hotel." She looked asking at the man in front of her.

Jake gave himself a jolt inside. "I have good news for you. The investigation that concerns you is complete. You are not suspected anymore." He paused for a moment and then laughed artificial. "That means you can go home."

Rebekka looked at him in confusion. "Home?"

"Yes, back to Germany. And that immediately." Jake looked stoically past her.

"But..., I thought it wouldn't go so fast." She felt literally run over by the development.

"We all knew you were innocent." Now Jake spoke to her as if to a child. "With my mother's statement and my own, that was no problem. I told you that right away."

"But..." Rebekka stammered uncertainly. "I mean, if you want, I'll stay."

Jake was silent for a long moment. "Rebekka, we shouldn't drag it out any longer. It's best if you leave tonight..."

"Tonight?" She looked at him shocked. "But... Jake, I fell in love with you..."

Jake's face got hard. "I'm sorry," he now said harshly, "but I wasn't aware that you had interpreted more into our affair."

"Affair", echoed Rebekka weak, "I thought..."

Jake writhed inside, but kept the rugged facade on the outside. "I got you a plane ticket. Believe me, after the whole story, the FBI likes to see you on your way back to Germany. So, it's best to pack your things right away. I'll take you to the airport."

Still shocked, she looked at him. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

Jake nodded grimly. "It's over, Rebekka."

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Catherine**_

Catherine and Vincent were left at a loss. At first both looked at each other questioningly without exchanging a word. Then Vincent pulled Catherine intimately into his arms.

"You're worried about him, aren't you," she mumbled quietly on his shoulder.

Vincent breathed deeply. "Something is wrong with him. He's so different than before."

Gently Catherine detached herself from him and looked at him. "Do you mean because he left so abruptly without telling us why?"

Vincent shook his head, confused by the conflicting feelings. "I don't know."

"You're afraid for him because you lost the bond to him," Catherine said.

"Maybe," Vincent replied. "It's almost like with you back then and what happened then ..."

"Shh." Catherine interrupted him by putting her finger on his lips. "Don't think about it. There must be a rational reason. At that time, you had become ill and therefore lost the bond to me. Now with Jacob it's different."

Vincent looked at the woman. "I can feel that you are worried. Catherine, I can feel you, but not him anymore. Why?"

She looked at him helplessly. "Maybe because of my return. I don't know. It was always a special gift from you that Jacob inherited from you in a way. And you told me that you had not known everything about him for a long time."

Vincent looked helplessly. "This bond to Jacob has crept away." Thoughtfully he took Catherine's hand. "Maybe I have to accept that, like many other things that can't be changed." Together they walked hand in hand through the tunnels. "I'll take you to the guest room. Then I'll get some clothes from Olivia if you want to change." Vincent's deep, beautiful voice penetrated through the tunnels. He would talk to his son later. "We have to decide how to go on as long as your apartment is not habitable. And..."

"...as long as we don't know who else is playing a fake game at the FBI," said Catherine. She stopped and shook her head tiredly. "Vincent, I'm so tired of all this."

Vincent gently stroked her shoulders. "You're tired. It's been a long day."

"I should let Jenny know so she wouldn't worry."

"Danny can bring her a message," Vincent said.

Gratefully Catherine nodded. "Yes, that would be good. I would like to help her and be with her when her husband's funeral is."

"Now come. You should rest." Vincent wanted to drag her with him when she held him back.

"Please bring me to you, Vincent. I don't want to be alone tonight."

Silently they looked at each other for an endless moment. Then he pulled her to him and arm in arm they went to his chamber.

_**New York; Catherine's apartment; in the evening; Jacob Chandler**_

As Jacob Chandler looked into the flames, he watched the fire eat its way through the fabric. His bloodstained clothing became a victim of the flames, as did the stranger's smartphone with the locating app on it, which had served to track down his own mobile phone. Jake reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out his own phone. It had been turned off since noon today. He looked at it thoughtfully. Then he threw it to the other things in the flames. His mother's apartment had a fireplace. Even before he had gone into the tunnels to his parents, he had ordered the house service to replace the door as soon as possible. He breathed deeply and evenly. Pictures rose before him, which he wanted to repress most of all.

Rebekka's frightfully widened face when he declared her relationship ended and he dropped her off at the airport. It was better, he said to himself, ignoring the painful stab in the chest at that thought.

He thought back to noon today, to the fight with the killer and then there was a blind spot in his memory, that only started again when he woke up like from a deep intoxication.

Jake couldn't tell if only minutes or even hours had passed. He had felt as if he had been unconscious. At first he couldn't remember where he was. He felt as if something strange had taken possession of him. He leaned laboriously and noticed that there was a body under him. He looked under himself and withdrew in horror.

The man he had been lying on, or what was left of him, looked terribly battered and disfigured. Blank horror was evident on the rigid facial features with the dead eyes. The man's body had been slit open. The throat had been torn open deadly. And there was blood everywhere. Jake looked at his hands. Blood. The blood of his opponent lying on the carpet of the living room staring at the ceiling with dead, empty eyes.

Jake became dizzy as he realized what that meant. He couldn't remember. The last minutes were as if extinguished from his perception. He sat up and looked around his mother's apartment. The overturned living room table witnessed a fierce fight to the death.

Slowly the memory came back. The break-in into his mother's apartment last night. He had wanted to see what had actually happened. The appearance of the stranger. A professional killer who had tried to kill him. Jacob stood up and staggered towards the bathroom. Once again, he looked back at the dead man, and the memory rose in him. The memory of an incredible rage that had filled him. He had been so terribly angry. This man had wanted to kill him. And after that he would have killed his mother. At the thought of it Jake felt something dark inside him that wanted to pull him with it. He forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly. He had to control himself. In the bathroom he saw his face in the mirror. Nothing unusual was to be recognized in it. The face of a normal, healthy thirty-year-old man looked at him. And yet Jake thought he saw a change. He turned on the tap. His hands were full of blood but otherwise they seemed completely normal. He breathed deeply and washed his hands and then his face. Then he went back to the living room. Jake sat down on the sofa and stared at the dead man. He didn't pose a threat anymore, but others would come after. In the dead silence that surrounded him, he heard the humming of his mobile phone.

He reached into his pocket. His boss tried to reach him, as he could see from the display. He put it aside. He didn't want to talk to anyone now.

"Think, Jake," he muttered to himself.

He had to do something. He stood up abruptly. He kneeled down to the killer and found the stranger's smartphone in the inside pocket of the jacket. On it was an app for locating other devices. This mobile phone was used to locate his own mobile phone via GPS. Immediately he switched off both mobile phones.

He breathed heavily and looked down. His clothes were tattered and bloodstained. Hurriedly he jumped up the stairs to the gallery and changed his clothes. Then he took a big garbage bag and stuffed the phones and his bloodstained clothes into it. With it he hurried down the stairwell into the cellar. It was daytime, and most of the residents of the apartment house were at work. With the garbage bag he disappeared through the shaft down the ladder, where a breakthrough in the wall led to the tunnels. His excellent eyes could cope even without a lamp in the darkness. Something else that he obviously had inherited from his father. In a dead end he dumped the garbage bag where he would find it again later.

Jake came back to the present slowly. His mother was safe in the tunnels. He didn't have to hurry. His parents had found each other again.

Carefully, he poked with the poker in the extinguishing embers to make sure that everything burned completely. Then he washed his hands. The hands he was looking at couldn't have done the carnage to the man today. And yet Jake suddenly thought he could see his father's claws. And when he looked into his face in the mirror above the sink, his father's roaring face seemed like an image. Startled, he backed away from himself.

1 * Robert Frost: The Road not taken


	5. Light and darkness

**Light and darkness**

Woe unto them that call evil good,

and good evil;

that put darkness for light,

and light for darkness;

(Isaiah 5:20)

_**New York; FBI offices; Jacob Chandler, Gerry Fisher**_

"Damn it, Chandler, where have you been?" Gerry Fisher was furious.

Jacob didn't answer that question. "First, tell me why my mother's apartment was broken into, even though there were FBI guards outside?" Jake looked challenging at his boss.

He resignedly pulled his shoulders up. "I can't say. Maybe the man on duty was just going to the toilet."

Jake snorted doubtfully.

"Where is your mother now?" asked Gerry Fisher.

"She's safe," Jake replied.

"Chandler, stop playing the lonely savior. I can't guarantee your mother's safety if you don't work with me." Gerry tried with authority.

But he bounced off Jake. "As long as you don't find the FBI leak and take it out, you won't know anything about me."

Gerry gritted his teeth.

"So?" Jake looked at his boss questioningly. "What does it look like?"

"We're looking," Gerry Fisher said more calmly. "I can understand you. First the burglary and then this disfigured dead man in your mother's apartment."

Jake didn't go into it any further. He thought of his parents down in the tunnels. He had sent down clothes from the apartment for his mother through a helper. At first, he wanted to find out by himself where the leak was at the FBI. He needed time. Time to find the leak and time to come clean with himself. His parents were not allowed to know about it.

"I can have you suspended," his boss threatened him now.

"You're exaggerating again," Jake said calmly to him.

"I'll do it, Chandler. You tell me right now where you're hiding your mother, or..."

"Or what?" Jacob looked at Gerry Fisher stoically. "Come on. Do it. Suspend me."

For a moment silence spread between them. Gerry Fisher gritted his teeth again.

Then he nodded. "All right. I warned you. You're playing a dangerous game. For your mother's safety, I'll let you get away with it. But there will be an aftermath when this whole thing is over. I promise you that."

Gerry Fisher wanted to leave the conference room when he remembered something. "I tried to call you dozens of times, but your phone was off. Leave it on so we can stay in contact."

Jake ironically raised his eyebrow upwards ironically. "Unfortunately, that's not possible."

"Why not," Gerry Fisher replied.

"It was destroyed during the operation with the amok runner. I'm sorry." You could hear Jake's voice saying that he wasn't sorry at all.

Gerry Fisher was thinking. "Wait," he said briefly and disappeared through the door.

Jake knew what was going to happen.

When his boss came back after a while, he gave him a new cell phone. "Here, take this. I've already stored the number with me."

Jake nodded and put the device in his pocket without comment. Wordlessly he left the office. Outside on the street he took out the phone and turned it off. Nevertheless, he looked around carefully, but couldn't find anything suspicious in his immediate surroundings. He had to be on his guard. And he had to go to his friend Danny, who was familiar with the technology of smartphones.

_**New York; Danny's store for used cell phones and repairs; Jake Chandler, Danny**_

"Can you somehow see if I can be tracked down with it?" Jake looked at his friend Danny with excitement.

They were standing together at Danny's store where he was selling all kinds of technical stuff.

"If you have a smartphone with you, you can always be tracked down." Daniel looked at Jake with a look that said he should know.

"I know, I know," Jake replied, "but can you find out if and who has access to this phone?"

Daniel nodded. "Sure, but what good is that if you can't do anything about it? I mean, if the FBI is watching you, what do you want to do?"

Jake looked at his childhood friend. "I don't know yet. I just want to know." He hadn't told Danny about the professional killer in his mother's apartment who had a tracking app on his cell phone to track down Jake's old device. The old cell phone no longer existed. Jake had destroyed it. But he didn't intend to give the Mafia a new gateway by using this smartphone. "Can't you manipulate it to make it safe?" he asked now.

Daniel and he had grown up together in the tunnels. When they were old enough, they had gone their separate ways. Jake to the FBI and Danny had followed his love of modern technology. He ran a small shop in Greenwich Village where he also did repairs. Nevertheless, he kept in touch with the people in the tunnels. Jake knew Danny knew all about technical stuff, especially smartphones. That's why he went to him first.

He shook his head regretfully. "That's not as easy as you think. I guess you don't want to change the number, do you?"

"No, my boss will try to call regularly, and then I should keep up appearances," Jake said.

"Then not much can be done. If he wants, he can track you down anywhere with it," Danny replied. "Except in the tunnels. They are safe."

"And if I leave it turned off."

Daniel nodded. "You don't trust your people at the FBI?"

"There's a leak there. I have to find out who it is. Until then my mother isn't safe," Jake replied.

"And if she just stays in the tunnels with your father?" Danny asked. "That is what she actually wants."

"Yes", Jake replied, "but I want to finish it. It has to stop. This fear for her life. Whoever is behind it, I will hunt these people and hunt them down. Jake grimly looked at his friend. "And then Mom and Pa can finally live in peace."

Daniel was silent about the vehemence with which his friend had spoken.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine and Vincent**_

Catherine awoke from a deep sleep. At first, she perceived the sounds with her eyes closed. A distant hammering and knocking on the pipes. Even further away, a very faint rattling, which must have come from a subway. These noises were so familiar to her as if they had always been there when she woke up. Slowly she opened her eyes. She was in Vincent's chamber on his bed. Searching, she let her gaze wander through the room, but he was not there. On the table stood a bowl of water and a vase of red roses. She had to smile involuntarily. Slowly she straightened up and listened into herself. She felt rested after that night, and there was something else. A feeling of security and love flowed through her. It was as if she had finally come home.

Quickly she washed herself and dressed. On the chair lay a few things from her apartment. So, Jacob had come back and brought her some clothes. She smiled again as she thought of her son. Probably he had something to do last night when he had left her and Vincent so abruptly and had gone back upstairs.

Catherine heard footsteps and a few moments later Vincent appeared in the chamber. In his hands he carried a tray with a teapot and some food.

When he saw her already dressed, he smiled. "Good morning."

Involuntarily, Catherine smiled back. "Good morning," she replied.

"How do you feel?" asked Vincent.

"Slept in well and rested," Catherine replied.

Vincent felt embarrassed after the previous night. Suddenly he remembered the tray in his hands. "I brought you something to eat," he said and put it on the table. "You are certainly hungry."

Catherine poured herself a cup of tea. "I saw the things from my apartment. Is Jacob there?"

Regretfully Vincent shook his head. "He had the things sent by a helper."

Catherine frowned irritated. "Something's wrong with him."

Vincent nodded. "I'm afraid he hasn't told us everything."

"I thought I could go with him to Jenny to see how she was doing," Catherine said. "But if he's not there..."

Vincent shook his head. "You're safe down here, Catherine. Jake will come when he has time." Vincent didn't sound very confident.

"We could send him a message," Catherine suggested.

"Yes," Vincent replied. Then he smiled at her. "But first I would like to show you something."

_**New York; Hospital; Jake Chandler and Victoria Thompson**_

Jacob walked slowly down the hospital corridor. In the inside pocket of his jacket, he felt only slightly the weight of his new phone. It wasn't the same thing his boss had given him. Danny had taken out the SIM card and put it in another device of the same model. The model Jake was now wearing didn't have a GPS signal, so he couldn't be tracked. The weak point was that he couldn't use it for the Internet now either. He could only use it to make phone calls. That had to be enough for the time being. Jake did not intend to inform everyone at the FBI about his next steps. He would choose the people exactly, he would involve in his fight to hunt down the perpetrators once and for all. That's why he was here. As he stopped in front of the hospital room he had been looking for, he knocked briefly. He didn't wait for an answer, but pushed the door open.

Victoria Thompson already sat on the bed dressed and seemed to have waited for him.

"Oh." She looked at him in amazement. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I know," Jake replied and closed the door emphatically. "You look as if you intend to leave this establishment."

Now Vicky nodded decisively. "I have already talked to the doctor in charge and am just waiting for my discharge papers. On my own responsibility, as the saying goes."

Jake was relieved. That was just in time for him. "Does your mother know?"

"No," replied the dark-haired FBI agent. "She'll probably rage."

"And how do you feel?" Jake continued. "I mean, how are you really?"

Vicky looked at her partner questioningly. "You don't just ask like that, do you? What's going on? What's it about?"

Instead of an answer, Jake reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled something out.

Vicky's eyes widened when she saw it was her gun. "Where do it come from? It should have been stored by the police after the incident in your mother's apartment."

Jake nodded. "The guy in charge from the evidence room owed me a favor. I told him you were back in action."

"You need my help," Vicky concluded.

"Do you feel strong enough?" Jake asked.

Vicky nodded and took her gun with her. Then she took her bag. "So, where are we going?"

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine and Vincent, Mouse**_

Vincent had led Catherine far down into deeper chambers. Sometimes Catherine overwhelmed the feelings when she was reminded of earlier. Some paths seemed familiar to her. Others seemed new. As they approached the waterfall and the big lake, she stopped for a moment.

"What is it?" Vincent asked.

Catherine looked at him. "It may sound strange, but it all seems so familiar. As if I had never been away."

Vincent smiled wistfully. "Sometimes when I walked on these paths or sat at the waterfall in our place, I thought I felt your closeness. As if you were with me in these moments."

"Maybe I was, too," Catherine replied. "I've dreamed about the tunnels so many times. And of you."

They watched each other for an apparently endless moment.

"Come." Vincent moved her on gently.

They came into an area that seemed completely unknown to Catherine. "Where are we?"

"We rebuilt these tunnels years ago after 2001."

"You mean, after the terrorist attacks then?" asked Catherine.

Vincent nodded in agreement. "Yes."

For a moment there was silence.

"What happened then, Vincent?" Catherine asked compassionately. "I mean, I knew your chambers were far away from the towers of the World Trade Center, but..."

Vincent looked into the void for a moment. "It was terrible. It was..." He didn't have the words.

Carefully Catherine grabbed him by the arm. "Are from you..."

"Yes," Vincent replied. "It was like an earthquake, and we were in it. Some tunnels and chambers collapsed. People were buried and trapped." He shook his head as if to drive away the images in his head. "We couldn't free them all."

Catherine looked at him in horror. "That must have been terrible for you. And father?"

"Father was devastated. He never got over that tragedy." Now Vincent reached for Catherine's hand. "For him it was more than the collapse of a part of our world. All these years he had brought us down here to safety from the dangers lurking above. And then we were at the mercy of the consequences of violence from above."

"I am so sorry," said Catherine.

"Hardly half a year later he died. He didn't have the strength to start over again."

Slowly they went on.

"But you had this strength?" asked Catherine.

"For Jacob and for all the other children and people who lived here," Vincent replied.

A little later they had arrived at their destination. They stood above a huge vault with steps leading down to its side.

"Oh my God," whispered Catherine with emotion. "Vincent, it's incredible." There were no words for her.

Gently Vincent grabbed her hand and led her down the steps until they stood together in the midst of the fragrant splendor. What amazed Catherine was a seemingly vast, magnificent garden. The ground was littered with flowers and bushes that radiated a bewitching scent. Vincent led them past rose bushes, hyacinths and lilacs. Here and there a tree rose up to the ceiling of the vault. In the background Catherine heard water rushing and she saw small streams flowing through the middle of the beds. Vincent led her on carefully laid out paths through the middle of the garden. Catherine looked at Vincent stunned, who visibly proudly presented this miracle.

"How is that possible down here?" Catherine asked.

He pointed up to the ceiling, which seemingly stretched endlessly up. "Do you see up there? Artificial light. It burns all day long. We turn it off overnight."

"But still, how can it be so deep under the surface of the earth?" Catherine still couldn't believe it.

"It was Geoffrey's idea," Vincent began to tell as he led her on a narrow path. "He'd had the idea of growing vegetables down here himself before. He tried a little around with the earth we have here. Mouse made him lamps as artificial light".

"And where did you get the electricity from?" asked Catherine.

Vincent smiled mischievously. "As father and I only found out afterwards, Mouse had tapped the New York power lines at the first attempts."

Catherine had to smile involuntarily. "Didn't they notice?"

Vincent pressed her hand. "Fortunately, not. We discovered this incredibly huge chamber and Mouse built generators and a small power plant so that we could generate electricity with water. Come on, I'll show you."

At the edge of the garden, Vincent led them a little way off. Catherine heard the water rushing loudly.

"What's that?" she asked.

"That's Mouse his invention," Vincent answered with pride in his voice.

In front of them the gaze opened and Catherine recognized a kind of dam wall. Now they went up a few steps again and behind the wall there was a small lake.

Astonished, Catherine stopped. "You built a reservoir," she said.

Vincent nodded. "It's a kind of hydroelectric power station, but Mouse can explain it to you best."

Hardly said, the inventor was already approaching them. He looked at her smiling. "Hello Catherine, hello Vincent. Did you take a walk through our garden?"

"I showed Catherine our supply sources and she wanted to know how we could get to the electricity," Vincent explained.

Proudly, Mouse knocked on the dam wall. "Hydropower. With turbines."

Helplessly, Catherine shook her head. "I don't know anything about that, but it seems to work."

"Of course, it works," Mouse said proudly. Then he began to explain. "Water is mass. When mass sets itself in motion, it becomes kinetic energy. When water is at the top, it follows gravity and flows down. When it flows through a kind of impeller, it sets a wave in motion through which a magnet rotates. The electricity is ready."

Vincent smiled at the simple description of Mouse. "It's not that simple. There's much more to it than that. Helpers provided cables and ..."

"...and turbines. In the beginning we built a simple water wheel. Now we have turbines," Mouse added. "This will allow us to generate much more electricity."

Speechless, Catherine looked at the whole plant. "A real hydroelectric power station," she said respectfully.

Mouse nodded enthusiastically. They said goodbye to each other and Vincent led them back to the garden. They came to an area separated from the flower beds.

"Here are our vegetable beds," Vincent explained.

Catherine looked at the plants with fascination. "So, you can take care of yourselves now and..."

"It's not enough for everything," Vincent replied. "We have some fruit trees, but we are still dependent on the help of our friends above. Nevertheless, it is a great success. Everyone helps with sowing and planting and of course with harvesting."

"And there are even flowers." Catherine looked around reverently. "Vincent, it's a little paradise."

"Yes, in a way it is," he replied, secretly rejoicing that she liked it.

Slowly they walked through the garden.

"Jamie and Olivia want to organize a celebration for you," Vincent suddenly said.

Catherine stopped. "A celebration?"

"A kind of welcome ceremony." He didn't speak any further and hoped that she understood the unspoken question.

She looked ahead for a moment. "That's sweet, but you know that I..."

Vincent interrupted her by grabbing her by both shoulders. "Everyone's so happy that you're alive and..."

"...and want to live here," Catherine completed the sentence. She looked at the magnificent garden and listened into herself. Her silence had been too long.

"If it's too early for you and you still need time, that's all right," Vincent said quietly.

She shook her head. "That's not the point."

"Then what is it, Catherine?" Vincent asked. "You'd be safe below."

"Yes," she said. "That would be me. But what about Jacob?"

"Jacob can take care of himself. You said yourself that he had to find his place in life." Vincent looked at her urgently.

"Vincent, it's not just about my safety, it's also about Jacobs. Don't you think the people who are after me have found out that I have a son?"

_**New York; in the car; Jake Chandler and Victoria Thompson**_

"So where are we going next?" asked Victoria Thompson as she sat in the car next to Jake.

"Do you coincidentally have a private cell phone?" asked Jake.

"Yes. I have it with me. Why?" asked Vicky.

"Does anybody from the FBI know your number?" continued Jake.

"No, usually I only used it for private purposes when I was on vacation. Or now in the hospital to call my mother." Vicky looked at Jake questioningly.

"Good. Very good," he said instead.

"Will you ever tell me what you're planning?" Vicky asked.

Jake was silent for a moment.

"Well," Vicky said, "at least you trust me enough to help you."

"I trust you completely," Jacob replied. "You almost got killed when James Madison tried to kill my mother."

"It was my job to protect her," Vicky said succinctly.

Jake gave her a quick look from the side as he drove on. "It's not just a job for you. You like her."

"She's a damn strong woman, if you ask me. Getting through all these years in the witness protection program and always knowing that there are still people who want to kill her, that's all..."

"Yes, she is extraordinary," interrupted Jake Vicky's flow of words. "In so many ways." He was silent again for a moment. "You know, I grew up with my father. We thought she was dead."

"I read the reports. Because her grave was to be moved, everything has come to light."

"Yes, so I don't know her as well as a son should know his mother," Jake said.

"I felt this distance between you in the weeks I was protecting her. Your father..."

"That's another story," Jake interrupted his partner again.

"Then your parents don't have a future together?"

"My parents love each other," Jake replied vehemently. He stopped the car in a side street in Brooklyn in front of a dark warehouse. He turned to Vicky. "I can't tell you about my father for reasons that I can't tell you. But my parents love each other and want to be together. That's why I need your help. I want to take those guys out once and for all who want to kill her. Are you with me?"

Vicky wanted to answer when Jake silenced her with his hand. "Think about it for a moment. It could cost you your job and maybe even more."

Vicky didn't hesitate a second. She nodded to him. "I'm in. So, what's your plan?"

_**New York; House in the Upper East Side; Cedric Hanlon and his secretary**_

In a house on the Upper East Side, people were not enthusiastic about the latest developments. A man with dark hair, in his late thirties and dressed in a dark suit, sat at his desk and scrutinized the man sharply in front of him. The secretary visibly felt uncomfortable in his skin.

"I'm sorry, sir," he stuttered helplessly. "I cannot explain to myself what happened."

The man at the desk leaned back and spread his fingers against each other. "That was the third attempt. One in Berlin and two in New York," he said coldly. „You had assured me that the last man would be good. "

"Yes," confirmed the blond man in front of him. "He should be the best in his line."

"Well. Now he's not anymore," the dark-haired man stated dryly. "He is dead. Do our people already know who it was?"

"According to our contact, the FBI and police are puzzled by the strange injuries that led to his death." Helplessly, the secretary shrugged his shoulders in anticipation of the outburst of anger of his boss, who was long overdue.

"Damn!" Finally, the dark-haired man struck the desk unrestrained. "This woman seems to have more than nine lives. She just can't be killed."

"Sir?" Helplessly the blond man stood in front of him and waited till the tantrum was over.

His boss quickly calmed down again. "Does anyone know where she is now?"

"No. Apparently she's completely shielded by her son."

"Why do we have all the informers and spies," the other shouted at his secretary.

He just shrugged his shoulders helplessly again. "There may be a possibility, Mr. Hanlon," he said. "At the Carnegie Hall rampage, Mrs. Chandlers friend lost her husband. She will not miss out on helping her friend at the funeral. That's next week."

Cedric Hanlon sullenly waved him off. "Too conspicuous. I don't want a massacre. I only want this woman." Then paused for a moment. "Although, maybe it is a way to get to her after all." He stared thoughtfully. "Yes, we will do that." Hanlon drummed restlessly on the desk. Then he waved to his secretary. "Connect me with our contact."

The other nodded and left the room.

_**New York; Airport; Gerry Fisher**_

Gerry Fisher was visibly nervous. Restlessly he drove over his face and listened eagerly into the handset of his mobile phone. 'Damn,' he thought to himself. Jacob Chandler couldn't be reached. The phone seemed to be off. He could have imagined that. Nervously he walked up and down the waiting area of the airport. He had been commuting between Washington and New York for days. At first it had only been the case of art forgery he had put Jacob Chandler on. It had expanded into a murder case. And then there was the thing about the appearance of Catherine Chandler from the Witness Protection Program. All this had gone under his direction. In addition, a dozen other cases for which he was responsible. After clearing up the counterfeit art thing, he could have used Chandler. But he was allowed to take care of his mother personally, as Catherine Chandler was still threatened by organized crime. That was unusual, and its annoyed Gerry Fisher because he would have preferred to put his most promising man elsewhere. Besides, you could see where that was going. Chandler stopped working with him and tried to do his own thing.

The loudspeaker system made a call for his machine. At the same moment Gerry Fisher's cell phone rang. Nervously he fiddled it out of his pocket.

"Yes hello," he said.

_**New York; Brooklyn; Jake Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Hal Garrett**_

Jake led Vicky through several narrow streets until they finally stopped in front of an unclear warehouse.

"Where are we?" Vicky asked automatically.

"In Brooklyn," Jake replied with a smile.

She had to smile involuntarily, despite the serious situation. "I know that."

"A friend has his business here. Come on. With it he climbed up a long iron staircase that led far up. When they arrived of a thick iron door at the top, Vicky looked down briefly. You had to be free of vertigo. But Jake pulled her by her arm through the door. They entered the converted attic of the warehouse.

"Hal, are you there?" Jacob shouted loud. "Hal?"

Vicky looked around curiously. There was a sales counter next to the entrance. Afterwards shelves pulled themselves along the wall. Rifles, submachine guns, handguns. There seemed to be nothing here that the arms industry did not produce.

From the back they heard footsteps. Finally, someone came. A rumble announced him.

"Shit," he cursed out loud. Then he came into view. He looked at the two visitors in surprise. "Jacob, is that you?" He stared at Jake in disbelief.

Jake grinned at the dark-skinned man. "Hello Hal. Didn't see you for a long time, huh?"

Hal got closer, spread out his arms and the two men hugged each other warmly. Victoria Thompson watched the scene from a distance. The men seemed to know each other well. She estimated Hal at about mid-fifty to early sixty. A little black man with curly hair, a moustache and good-natured eyes. He was wearing old, worn jeans and a stained sweater.

"God, that must have been ages ago," Hal said now. He wiped his eyes slightly. "Little Jake."

"Not that little anymore," Jacob replied with a smile.

For a moment the men looked at each other with understanding.

Then Hal pulled himself together visibly. "What brings you here?"

Curiously he looked past Jake to the woman who was standing in the middle of the weapon shelves and had watched the two men silently.

Jake turned to Vicky. "Hal, may I introduce you to my colleague. Victoria Thompson. We work together."

Shyly, the black guy approached the FBI agent and shook her hand.

"Vicky. This is Hal Garrett, a good old friend of mine and..." He fell silent abruptly.

"I was a good friend of Jake's mother," Hal continued.

"Your mother?" Vicky asked in amazement and looked at Jake as she shook Hals hand.

"Not my mother," Jake tried to explain awkwardly. "He's a friend of the woman who helped raise me."

Vicky frowned briefly and kept looking at Jacob questioningly.

"A wonderful woman," Hal mumbled quietly, and for a moment silence set in.

"Who was she?" Vicky asked.

"Diana Bennett," Jake replied, "She was a policewoman here in New York, specializing in special cases no one else dares approach."

"Was." Vicky knew what that meant.

"She died on a mission. That was a long time ago." Jacob just shrugged his shoulders for a moment, as if that didn't touch him anymore.

Vicky looked at him for a moment. "That's why the FBI."

Jake smiled sparingly. Then he turned to Hal. "I need your help."

"I almost thought so," said the older man. He pointed to the shelves all around. "What do you need?"

"Hand guns and rapid-fire weapons. And ammunition," Jake replied, "if possible in good condition. Is Theo there too?"

"He is on his way and pick up a delivery of used stuff. But he should be back soon. Why do you ask?" Meanwhile Hal pulled some handguns and submachine guns from the shelves and put them side by side on the counter.

"I might need some help," Jake said in a meaningful tone.

Hal paused and looked at him. "Boy, what's the matter? Are you in trouble?"

"Not directly." Jake hesitated only briefly. "I need to put some bastards out of the way who want to kill my mother."

"Your mother..." Now Hal looked at the young man questioningly, then it dawned on him. "Oh of course, your mother. Catherine Chandler. I read something about it." He nodded slowly. "And she's still threatened?"

Jake nodded grimly while Victoria had followed the conversation with fascination. She watched as Jake picked up the guns and tested them.

"What do you think we should take?" he asked her.

She hesitated for a moment, and then she went to him and took several submachine guns in her hand. "You still haven't told me what plan you're pursuing," she said by the way.

Jacob was about to answer when Vicky's cell phone rang. She pulled it out of the inside pocket of her jacket and looked briefly at the display. "Excuse me, please," she said to Jake and disappeared through the steel door outside.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine and Vincent**_

Vincent and Catherine spent the morning together in the tunnels. They walked together through the underground garden, and Catherine couldn't get enough of the colors and flowers. As they slowly returned to Vincent's chamber, she was still amazed.

"You created a miracle," she said.

Vincent nodded. "Yes, in a way it is."

In the inner area they met one or the other tunnel inhabitant. Catherine was greeted kindly by everyone. It almost seemed as if she was already one of them. And maybe she was, too. She listened into herself and thought. It would be so simple. She wouldn't have to go up anymore. She would stay down here with Vincent. No one would ever need to know what had become of her. But then she shook her head inside. Jacob lived above and she couldn't just disappear without leaving a plausible reason.

"Jacob doesn't seem to be coming back so soon," Vincent said, thinking of similar thoughts.

"Is there anything else we can do to reach him?" Catherine asked.

"We can send a message to Danny's store. If he'll get in touch anywhere, it'll be there," Vincent replied.

Catherine frowned anxiously. "There's something wrong with him. He was so strange when he left us."

Vincent nodded confirming. "I know. I'm worried too, but there's nothing we can do at the moment."

"I know, I had promised to stay here," Catherine objected, "but if Geoffrey accompanied me, I could..."

She was interrupted. "Catherine," Vincent was looking for words. "He'll come and discuss everything else with us." Calming he took her in his arms. "Perhaps you must learn to trust him."

Catherine nodded in Vincent's embrace, but she was by no means reassured.

_**New York; Brooklyn; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Hal Garrett and his son Theo**_

It took a while for Jake, together with Hal and his son Theo, to put the guns and ammo in the trunk. They had refused Vicky's help, which she noted with an amused smile.

"You should take it easy," Jake said to her.

"You mean you don't trust me to carry that stuff, but I can shoot with it later." Vicky grinned at him considering this male logic. "Sometimes you're really old-fashioned."

"Not just sometimes," Jake replied and closed the trunk lid.

They said goodbye to Hal and Theo.

Hal seemed worried. "Let me know if you need help with anything."

Jake nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Hal."

„So now we're covered up to the limit. I feel like you want to go to your own personal war." Vicky sharply summed it up.

"In some ways," Jake said.

"And what is the next step?" Vicky asked.

"Now we're picking up the trail," Jake replied. "By the way, who was that on the phone earlier?"

"Oh," Victoria Thompson said evasively. "That was someone from the hospital with a question. Maybe I should stop by my mother sometime so that she won't worry."

"That can be arranged," Jake said.

They drove on in silence.

_**New York; Office of Joe Maxwell; Jake Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Joe Maxwell**_

"You want what?" Upset, Joe Maxwell stood in his office staring at the two FBI agents standing in front of him. "Does your supervisor know?" The silence that followed could be considered a no. "If you think I'm going to do something like that, you're way off. I can't believe you even ask for it."

"Yes," Jacob Chandler contradicted. "You're going to give us the names of the people you put in the Mafia and how we can contact them."

"No," Joe Maxwell shouted loud. "Absolutely not."

Jake was not impressed by the angry face of the New York DA. "You give me these names for the sake of friendship with my mother." His voice was calm and expressionless, almost quiet. "And you tell me who else knew about my mother's identity in recent years."

Joe Maxwell leaned on his desk and let his head hang. "What you're asking is impossible," he said more calmly. "It would jeopardize many of our investigations and..."

With one step Jake stood in front of the desk and also leaned on it. "I don't give a shit," he said threateningly. "I'll do everything I can to make sure my mother can live in peace."

Surprised, Joe Maxwell looked at the young man. „You want to do something on your own." He looked stunned from Jacob Chandler to Victoria Thompson and back again. "This is insanity. You have no chance against organized crime."

"If your people might help us, maybe we have," Jake said.

"Does your boss know?" asked Joe Maxwell.

Jake shook his head. "To be honest. I don't trust him. He could be the leak at the FBI."

"Are you sure?" Maxwell asked.

"I know Gerry Fisher is involved," Jake replied. "I just don't know how far."

The white-haired New York DA let himself sink into his office chair and breathed deeply.

"I know that my mother has always trusted you. And that's why I trust you and know you'll help us." Jake looked at the older man expectantly.

Meanwhile Vicky stood in the background and followed the action silently but attentively.

Seemingly helpless, Joe Maxwell looked at his desk in front of him. He seemed to be thinking. Then he nodded and looked at Jake. "Where's your mother now?"

"In safety," Jacob Chandler replied.

Joe Maxwell twisted his eyes. "That doesn't work and you know it. If you really trust me, you can tell me where Catherine is." He looked at Jake seriously. "Believe me. She's as important to me as she is to you and if I can help protect her..."

"It's not about that," Jake replied, "and I believe you. But the less people know where she is, the safer it is. She's fine, and she's safe."

Again, Joe Maxwell thought for a moment. Then he gave himself a jolt. "All right, then. We've got a spy in the system. There he calls himself Pete Manetti." While Joe was talking, he wrote something on a piece of paper. "This is the contact address where we leave messages and, if necessary, contact is established. A magazine store owned by a former cop."

Jake took the note and nodded. "Thank you."

"Mr. Chandler," Joe Maxwell said seriously, "don't do anything rash. It would still be best if we could get these people out of circulation legally."

"The best for whom?" Jake asked back sharply. "For another witness to testify in a trial and hide for the rest of his life?"

The New York prosecutor looked at the young man speechless.

Jake waved the note at him. "Thank you very much for the info. Come on," he said to Vicky. Together they left the office, leaving a helpless Joe Maxwell behind.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jacob (Jake), Catherine and Vincent**_

"Mom, you can't. That's way too dangerous." Upset, Jake stood one day later in his father's chamber.

"I just have to do it, Jacob," said Catherine quietly. "She is my friend. I can't let her down in these hard times."

Helplessly Jacob looked at his father. "Say something."

Vincent had previously stood silent with her arms crossed when Catherine had told her son that she wanted to go to the funeral of Jenny Aronson's husband.

Now he slowly straightened up. "I can understand that your mother wants to help her friend."

"But..." Jacob said.

"It can't be more dangerous than it used to be when she was above," Vincent continued. "Besides, I know you'll protect her."

"But the people who are looking for her will expect her to be there," Jacob replied.

Thoughtfully Vincent looked at his son. "Do you know anything you don't want to tell us?"

"Just enough that it's safest for her down here," his son replied.

"I can't hide here all the time." Catherine seemed tense. "It would look strange if I didn't show up from time to time. Not to mention how you're going to explain it to the FBI."

"Let me worry about that," Jake replied.

Catherine was about to disagree when Vincent raised his arm. "Jacob, we should find a solution to the problem. Together."

Jake looked from his father to his mother and back again. He seemed to be thinking. Then he raised both arms annoyed. "All right. We go to this funeral. But only if Vicky and I can stay with you all the time."

Catherine looked at him surprised. "Vicky? She's not in the hospital anymore?"

"She was released at her own request," Jake explained, hoping his mother would not ask any more.

"But she couldn't possibly be fully fit for work again," said Catherine. She looked suspiciously at her son.

He waved off. "Let that be her concern. She seemed to be all right when I picked her up."

"So, you picked her up from the hospital. Why?" asked Catherine.

'Shit', Jake thought to himself. His mother was far too attentive to be fooled. Instead of answering her question, he just said, "Mom. She's fine. She's home right now. So, don't worry about it."

"Aren't you going to call for backup from the FBI?" Vincent asked.

"No." Jake strongly disagreed. "The FBI agent who tried to kill Mom wasn't alone. I'm sure."

"Do you suspect anyone in particular?" asked Catherine.

"Yes, but I have no proof." Jake took a short break. "That's why I don't want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger."

Catherine nodded to him understandingly. Gently she put her hand on her son's arm. "I understand your concern, but I cannot hide for all eternity. That's why I want to be with Jenny on this difficult day for her."

"It's all right," Jake mumbled and felt a previously unfamiliar familiarity with his mother.

"Did you talk to anyone else about your suspicions?" she asked him.

"Yes. With Joe Maxwell. He was also worried about you and was very persistent." Now Jake smiled slightly. "You once said you trusted him."

"Yes, I do," Catherine replied.

Vincent meant: "We should have a plan for the day of the funeral. Maybe it would be helpful if Geoffrey or Danny were around so that we could react quickly."

Jacob nodded with relief. "Yes, that's a good idea."

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Catherine**_

"What did you think of his behavior?" Catherine asked after Jacob had gone back upstairs.

Vincent took his time with the answer. "Different."

"Yes, different. Even though I haven't known him that long, it seems to me that a change has taken place in him." Catherine hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I know him as reserved, cautious, restrained, courageous, friendly, intelligent and strong."

Vincent had to smile at Catherine's enumeration. "You speak as a mother."

Catherine spoke seriously. "I don't know exactly why, but now he suddenly seems stranger to me. As if there was something new and unknown in him."

"You're right," Vincent said. "I had very similar thoughts. I only thought it was because he didn't want me to hear his thoughts."

"Probably he doesn't want that either," Catherine replied.

"What do you mean?" asked Vincent.

"I think he's planning something." Now Catherine looked worried. "Vincent, I think he's got some plan. Because of me. Because of us. I'm not quite sure."

Alarmed, Vincent wanted to go out to rush after his son, but Catherine held him back. "No. Leave him alone. You probably won't be able to reach him anyway."

"What should we do instead?" asked Vincent nervously, "I have to do something when he's in danger."

Slowly Catherine approached Vincent and gently grasped his face. "Maybe you have to trust him. We have to trust him. Do you understand?"

Vincent gently embraced Catherine's narrow hands with his hands. He nodded understandingly. "Yes, I know. Nevertheless, he will have to explain some things to me next time."

Catherine had to smile involuntarily at that answer, which sounded like the worried father. "Maybe he's just trying to protect the mother he still has."

"What do you mean?" Vincent asked.

Catherine looked seriously at the man in front of her. "I mean Diana Bennett." She hesitated for a moment. "You know, I talked to him about Diana Bennett. Her death must have hit him hard. More than you might have known."

Vincent didn't know what to answer. How could he talk to Catherine about the woman who had been like a mother to Jacob? He felt visibly uncomfortable in his skin. "I know what Diana meant to him."

Catherine took a deep breath. "And what did she mean to you?"

The silence descended into the room like a heavy curtain that swallowed all the sounds. There was no clock that you could hear ticking.

"We never withheld the truth," Catherine continued in a calm voice. But a storm raged inside her. She had thought about it for so long, but everything came to the same result. They had to talk about it.

Finally, Vincent stirred. Nervously, he grasped the back of the chair standing next to him. Then he slowly walked a few steps in the chamber around. "She helped me to free Jacob. And she shot that monster that did all this to you."

"I know," Catherine replied quietly, "but that's not what I meant."

Now Vincent nodded slowly. He walked towards her and took her hand. "Come on, let's take a few steps."

Although Catherine asked for answers, she let Vincent lead her out of the chamber. They stepped deeper into the tunnels and corridors.

"Where are we going?" Catherine asked after a while.

Vincent only looked at her briefly and pressed her hand harder. Then they descended further into the depths of the earth. Oddly enough, Catherine found the way strangely familiar. But just before the end it dawned on her. In front of her the last part of the way to the cave opened. The cave into which Vincent had retreated thirty years ago in his delirium and into which she had followed him alone. The cave in which...

But this time the entrance didn't look like a black hole in front of her. A soft glow came out, suggesting that there were candles burning.

Surprised, she wanted to say something, but Vincent pulled her wordlessly on and into the past. As she had suspected, candles were burning that were stuck in holders. The lamp they had taken with them brightened the room even more and took any darkness away. Otherwise it looked the same as then. Rough rock walls and sandy ground. And at one point on a ledge there were red roses in a vase. They must have been put there only recently.

Vincent had let go of Catherine's hand, who looked speechlessly around the room. He leaned his back against the wall and waited.

Catherine took a deep breath and looked at him. "You remembered."

"Yes," Vincent replied. "I remembered. You wanted to know what Diana meant to me."

Catherine could only nod wordlessly.

"She helped me find Jacob," Vincent began to repeat.

Catherine walked slowly from the middle of the room towards him. "You said that already."

"And you knew all the time," Vincent continued. "After his liberation and the name celebration she became more and more a part of our world here in the tunnels. She was a friend to everyone. She helped when help was needed. And for Jacob she became the mother he had lost." For a moment Vincent paused thoughtfully. "But she never wanted to be called that by him. She wanted him to call her Diana, not Mom or Mother. Now I only understand why, because she knew that you were still alive."

Catherine nodded slowly and looked intently at Vincent.

"We spent a lot of time together," he continued. "At first I felt comforted by her presence and caring for Jacob. It was good to talk to someone who understood and accepted me and also accepted the world of tunnels. I think father hoped that she would help me over your loss. In a way she has, too, because she helped me to look forward."

Vincent paused again and looked at Catherine because he wanted to know how she felt about his words. But there was no emotion in her face. That was new. She must have learned that in all those years of witness protection. "Can you understand that?"

She just nodded motionless without saying a word.

"But it wasn't the same as between us. There wasn't this bond, this inner connection. She didn't think much of classical literature or music. Over time we realized how different we were. I loved her as a friend, but..."

"...but she wanted more," Catherine said now.

He looked at her and nodded thoughtfully. "I'm afraid so. I didn't notice it for a long time and maybe didn't want to see it. Father had encouraged me to be with her. But the more time passed and the more I was with Diana, the further away you were from me."

"That is not surprising," Catherine said quietly.

"At some point Jacob began to ask about you, about his real mother," Vincent continued. "Of course, I had told him about you early on. I wanted him to know who his mother was, but one day I found him in my chamber. He stood in front of the picture of us and asked for you. He knew that his mother was in the picture. And then I told him everything. Everything that had been, from our bond and from our love for each other." Vincent stopped in his tale. "I don't know what he understood and what he didn't. But it brought back memories of us and of what had been and what I still felt. I told him how much I loved you and then..."

"Yes?" Catherine asked gently. "What happened then?"

Vincent frowned. "He asked if I couldn't love Diana because I loved you so much. It fell off my eyes like scales."

Catherine looked at him tense. "Then how did it go on?"

"I talked to Diana about it. Of course, I should have noticed much sooner that she saw more in me." For an endless moment Vincent was silent. "After our conversation something changed fundamentally between us. She remained the friend for everyone in the tunnels and the person closest to Jacob except me. But beyond that, we kept a certain distance between us, because neither of us could change our feelings. I couldn't give her what she wanted. This was also the time when I began to visit this cave regularly." Helplessly Vincent looked at the woman in front of him.

"My memories were all I had of you, and I didn't want them to be forgotten again."

After these words silence sank into the room. Endless silence.

"Thank you for telling me," Catherine then said. "I understand many things better now."

"What do you mean by that?" Vincent asked.

She smiled slightly. "The way Jacob treated me in the beginning when I showed up. I have never been his mother. I was a stranger to him."

"Was that what this was about?" Vincent asked.

"No," Catherine replied. "I wanted to know how you felt."

"Catherine", Vincent said quietly. "What I feel for you will never pass. Not in thirty years and not even in eternity."

Slowly Catherine bridged the remaining distance to him. There were tears in her eyes. "So am I, Vincent."

Then she closed her eyes while her heads leaned against each other and they held each other in close embrace.

Three days later, they embraced each other again.

"Please be careful," Vincent asked. "And listen to what Jacob says."

Catherine slowly detached herself from him. She smiled slightly as she looked at him. "You think I should follow my son's instructions."

"He just wants nothing to happen to you," Vincent objected.

"I know," Catherine replied. "Don't worry about me. I'll be back tonight." Another deep look, then she turned around.

Vincent nodded to Geoffrey, who was to accompany Catherine up to her apartment. He watched her disappear into the dim light of the tunnel under her apartment building. She would change and go to Jenny Aronson to succor her with her husband's funeral. Jacob waited above, who would accompany her and not let her out of his sight. Nevertheless, Vincent felt a new fear rise within him. That was only natural, he said to himself. The last days had been the most beautiful of his life. Catherine and he had stayed together almost all the time. Now she went back up into the world above, where danger threatened her. Jacob had not come to the tunnels again, but had only sent messages and told them when the funeral was taking place. Therefore, they had not been able to talk to their son anymore. If Catherine was right and Jacob was planning something on his own...

Helplessly, Vincent turned away. Restlessly he walked through the tunnels. Now and then he listened into himself. Catherine was fine. He could feel it and that calmed him down. But his son remained hidden to him.

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment; Catherine, Victoria Thompson, Geoffrey**_

"Hello Cathy, nice to see you," Victoria Thompson greeted the elder at the front door.

"Hello Vicky," Catherine replied. Then she turned to Geoffrey. "Thanks for your help, Geoffrey."

He nodded to her and Victoria. "I then drive straight on to the cemetery where the funeral takes place. I'll be in the background, but always close by."

"Thank you," Vicky also said to him.

When the door closed behind him, Catherine turned to the FBI agent with a serious face. "What are you doing here?"

"My job," Vicky replied.

"But you can't possibly be on your feet again. When I visited you at the hospital last week..."

Vicky dismissed Catherine's objection. "That was right after I woke up. Meanwhile I am well again. So don't worry about me."

"Does the FBI know you're here?" asked Catherine.

"No," Vicky replied truthfully. "For the FBI, I'm still unable to work."

Catherine nodded thoughtfully. "You want to trick the traitor, don't you?"

Vicky grabbed Catherine around her shoulder. "As I said before, just don't worry. You sure want to change." Gently, the FBI agent pushed the older woman towards the bedroom.

Catherine was about to give in when she noticed something. "Where's Jacob?"

"He still has something to do," Vicky said evasively.

Catherine wanted to say something first, but then she didn't and disappeared into the bedroom.

_**New York; a newspaper shop; Jake Chandler, Samuel Henderson**_

Jake was standing in the magazine store leafing through some newspapers. From time to time his gaze would go questioningly to the older man behind the counter who owned the store. He hoped the informer named Pete Manetti would show up this morning. He had left a message about the shop owner shortly after talking to Joe Maxwell. Yesterday the message came that the man was coming this morning. He was already overdue. Jake was nervous because he had to go back to his mother's apartment in half an hour at the latest. From there he and Vicky would accompany his mother to the funeral. Only Joe Maxwell knew about it. Jake looked restlessly at his watch. The man was clearly too late. Again, the shop door went. A tall, giant black man entered the store. When Jake looked over at him inconspicuously, his eyes grew bigger. He knew the man.

Samuel Henderson only looked around briefly, then he saw Jake and walked purposefully towards him. "Mr. Chandler, I was hoping to find you here."

Jake looked astonished at the man whom he only knew as head of security at the American embassy in Berlin. "What are you doing here?"

Henderson nodded only briefly to the owner of the shop, who seemed to be reassured. "I come directly from Berlin. It's about your mother. There's information that she's being kidnapped at this funeral today."

Jake looked at the man suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"From the New York DA," Samuel Henderson replied.

"Joe Maxwell," Jake still asked in surprise.

"Yes. Excuse me; this is all very surprising for you now. I was already responsible for your mother's safety in Berlin."

"I thought you were the head of security at the embassy." For Jake, it all happened way too fast.

"That was mainly camouflage. I guess your mother actually wants to go to that funeral." Henderson now came to the point.

"Yes, she wants to be with her friend and she won't be dissuaded," Jake replied.

"Are there security guards around?" asked the black man.

"Only my partner and I. And as long as my mother is in public with other people, I don't think she's in danger," Jacob said.

"That sounds logical. Nevertheless, I would like to be there with you. Three are better than two. So we can divide ourselves better. What do you think," Samuel Henderson suggested.

Jake nodded hesitantly. The man had helped him in Berlin and saved his life. And he had protected his mother. "Good. Why not?" He looked at the clock. "It's about time. We must hurry."

_**New York; Catherine's Apartment; Catherine, Victoria Thompson, Jake Chandler, Samuel Henderson**_

"You're late," Vicky greeted him at the front door when Jake walked in.

"I know," he replied. "Where's Mom?"

"She wanted to change for the funeral. Did you meet the man?" Vicky looked at him expectantly.

Jake shook his head regretfully. "No, but someone else showed up to help us." He interrupted himself when his mother appeared in the living room. "Hello, Mom."

"Hello Jacob," Catherine greeted her son. "For all I care, we can then."

Jake looked at her in surprise. He had reckoned with accusations that he hadn't been in the tunnels in the last few days. His mother, dressed in black, stood in front of him and put the purse calmly over her shoulder.

"All right, let's go," Vicky said and opened the door.

Together they left the apartment.

In the elevator Jake finally remembered what he had wanted to say. "By the way, reinforcements are waiting at the car."

Surprised, the two women looked at him. "Who?" Vicky asked.

"You know him, Mom," Jake said to his mother. "The head of security at the American embassy in Berlin. Samuel Henderson."

Catherine already opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment the elevator door opened and they were standing in the garage. Samuel Henderson had been waiting at the car. Catherine was silent. Victoria Thompson frowned briefly and looked at Jake questioningly.

"He's all right. He helped me with the investigation in Berlin."

Vicky kept her brooding face as she greeted the black man.

Catherine nodded to him only briefly. "Mr. Henderson."

"Mrs. Chandler," he replied.

Then they got in the car together and drove off.

_**New York; cemetery; memorial service for Jenny Aronson's husband; Catherine, Jenny Aronson, Jake, Vicky, Samuel Henderson, Geoffrey, Joe Maxwell**_

"Thank you for being here," Jenny Aronson whispered in a tear-choked voice.

In response, Catherine silently pressed her friend's hand. They were both sitting in the front row at the cemetery where the funeral service for Jenny's husband Linus was held. Relatives and acquaintances of Jenny had appeared. Linus had had many business friends as a self-employed engineer. Some business friends had also come from Jenny's publishing house.

Catherine had hardly been able to exchange a word with her friend. Jenny seemed to be like in a tunnel and hardly noticed what was happening around her. She had also not noticed that Catherine had appeared with three bodyguards. Catherine looked around carefully. Jacob stood right at the end of the row she was sitting in and also looked around carefully. She knew that Vicky was standing somewhere behind her and wouldn't let her out of her sight. Samuel Henderson had positioned himself somewhat distant along a path that led to the exit of the cemetery. Probably to get her away quickly, if necessary. And somewhere must be Geoffrey, of whom Samuel Henderson knew nothing. Catherine turned to Jenny. It was no use to her to worry about her safety. She had come here for Jenny. That was all that mattered at the moment.

Joe Maxwell arrived late. He arrived just before the funeral service began. He nodded briefly to Catherine when she saw him and had only time to hurry to find a seat. The funeral service went without incident. Jenny seemed absent during the priest's speech, as if she wasn't there at all. Catherine watched her anxiously from the side. Maybe it was better for her friend if she withdrew into herself.

After the official part, only the closest relatives and friends remained to pay their last respects to the deceased at the grave. Although Catherine had never met Jenny's husband, she stayed with her friend. Jenny looked paler and had trouble keeping composure. Catherine gently put her arm around her shoulder.

Meanwhile, Jake and Vicky were in the background a few feet away as a figure approached them from the cemetery entrance with hasty steps. Jake cursed quietly as he saw who it was. Vicky also became restless when she recognized the man.

"You stay here," Jake instructed her and demonstratively approached his boss.

"Gerry, what are you doing here?" Broad-legged, Jake stood in front of Gerry Fisher.

He was visibly out of breath, as if he had run. "Chandler, you owe me an explanation. You haven't been answering the phone for days, and now I have found out that your mother has emerged out of nowhere today to..."

"How do you know?" Jake asked in return.

Gerry Fisher only fell silent for a moment. "Well, that was obvious after it became known that Mrs. Aronson's husband had died in the rampage."

"That still doesn't explain how you got this information," Jake said harshly.

Gerry Fisher was only briefly confused. "I don't like your tone, Chandler. I'm here because I wanted to warn you. I got word from a contact that your mother is being kidnapped today."

"Oh yes," Jake said sarcastically. "You're the second person to warn me today."

"The second?" Astonished, Gerry Fischer looked at the man in front of him.

"Jake, for God's sake, what's going on?" Victoria Thompson had approached unnoticed. "You can be heard all over the cemetery."

Gerry Fisher frowned angrily. "Mrs. Thompson, what are you doing here? As far as I know, you're still unfit for duty."

"That's not up for debate now," Jake replied. He grabbed his boss by the collar without further ado. "Listen, Gerry, I know you're playing a wrong game."

Fisher was furious and became red in his face. "Let go of me immediately," he gagged angrily.

"Jake," Vicky warned quietly. "You should let him go."

Jake angrily pushed the man to the ground in front of him. „You're in cahoots with them." He stared reproachfully at the man on the floor.

At that moment screams and shouts behind them became loud. But Jake didn't even notice, he was so angry. Vicky stood there frozen and couldn't believe that Jake had actually let himself be carried away to an assault against his superior. Only when the turmoil behind them got louder did she turn around irritated.

"Oh my God," she whispered in horror. "Jake!" She pushed him hard.

Furiously he turned to her and finally looked in the direction she was looking. Not a hundred meters away from them the remaining mourners ran away in panic. Jenny Aronson knelt next to a lifeless person lying on the ground. Vicky and Jake ran immediately and realized as they approached that it was Joe Maxwell.

Jake wanted to breathe a sigh of relief when Jenny Aronson looked up. "Cathy," she screamed loudly. "He's got Cathy." She pointed in the direction of the exit.

Only now did Jacob register how his mother was dragged away by a tall black man whom he undoubtedly knew as Samuel Henderson. She wriggled in the man's brutal grip. Jake reached for his gun and started run. He didn't even notice that Vicky was close behind. Henderson had already disappeared through the gate of the cemetery. On the road, a dark BMW drove up at breathtaking speed and stopped right next to Samuel Henderson, who shut up Catherine's mouth so she couldn't scream. From the side, Geoffrey stormed to the man and attacked. The man knocked him to the ground with a brutal blow. Henderson opened the door of the car and forcibly pushed Catherine into it.

"Stop! Stand still," Jake shouted and aiming at Henderson.

He had also pulled a revolver, aimed at Geoffrey and shot ice-cold. Another shot crashed through the air and the revolver flew Henderson out of his hand. Vicky had stopped in the background and had hit. Henderson jumped into the car, which drove off before Jake could reach him.

"Mom!" he yelled in horror after the car. And then: "Fuck!"

Vicky reached the spot and looked speechlessly after the car that turned into the next street and disappeared. She looked at Geoffrey lying on the ground, who didn't move. "Jake, we need an ambulance."

Jake kneeled down to the man from the tunnels whom he had known all his life. "Geoffrey?" He felt the pulse. "He's alive," he said to Vicky. She had already pulled out her phone and called the ambulance.

Jake looked around dazed. He looked from Vicky to Geoffrey lying on the ground and over to Jenny Aronson, who was still kneeling next to Joe Maxwell. With hasty steps he ran to his mother's friend. Joe Maxwell was unconscious.

"He kidnapped Cathy," stammered Jenny Aronson helplessly. "The great dark-skinned one and Joe..."

Jake quickly scanned the New York DA. He didn't seem to be hit by a bullet. "Mr. Maxwell." Jake knocked the older man lightly against his cheeks.

With a moan, Joe Maxwell opened his eyes. A bump appeared on his forehead. Samuel Henderson had knocked him down when he had stood in his way. Surprisingly fast he came up. "Where's Catherine?" He looked around.

"This Samuel Henderson dragged her into a car that suddenly appeared and drove with her away," explained Jake, who suddenly had his heart pounding up to his neck.

"Who's Samuel Henderson?" Joe Maxwell asked promptly.

"Well, the security chief of the American embassy in Berlin. The one you told that he could find me in the magazine store this morning."

"Damn," Joe Maxwell cursed angrily. "I didn't tell anyone where you were. I don't know the guy at all."

Jake looked desperately at the entrance gate of the cemetery through which Henderson and his mother had disappeared. He screamed loudly and wanted to sink into the ground at the same time.

_**New York; on the streets of New York; in the BMW; Catherine, Samuel Henderson, driver**_

Samuel Henderson wrapped a handkerchief around his hand and hissed softly. "Don't make any trouble now." He had let go of Catherine to bandage his bleeding hand. "Hurry Dave," he instructed the driver. "We're late."

Catherine came to herself quickly after being dragged into the car, even though she had fought back with her hands and feet. She looked cool at the black man next to her who had been responsible for her safety at the American embassy in Berlin. A security she had never relied on. The minutes went by endlessly as she moved further away from her son and from Vincent. And thus of all that gave her hope.

"So, what are you going to do with me now," she asked coldly.

Samuel Henderson stopped trying to stop the bleeding on his hand. He looked at her with disdain, "Don't worry. I won't hurt you."

"Don't you want to avenge yourself that I put your father behind bars many years ago?" Catherine asked provocatively.

"I'm just making a deal," Henderson replied. "And I make so sure that justice is done to my father."

"Justice" asked Catherine. "Your father was guilty then."

"Yes," Henderson said angrily, barely keeping himself in check. "And he died in one of your prisons. I could kill you for that." He literally spit out the words.

"Why don't you?" Catherine asked coolly.

For a moment, Samuel Henderson looked like he was close. With a curse on his lips, he dropped back into the seat. "Keep your damn mouth shut. You'll get what you deserve."

Carefully Catherine looked around. The car was luxurious. At least she drove first class to her death. But immediately she forbade herself these thoughts. She had a son and a man she loved. There were many things in her life worth fighting for. And she would not disappoint her son again.

_**New York; Cemetery and the streets of New York; Jacob Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Joe Maxwell, Gerry Fisher**_

Joe Maxwell struggled his way up. "Do you have the license plate of the car?"

"It was a black BMW. The last digits were 666." Victoria Thompson interfered. "Unfortunately, I could not recognize more so fast."

"Now you can see what you've done with your arbitrary actions." Gerry Fisher approached Jake and Vicky angrily, "I warned you, but you wouldn't listen to me."

Jake and Vicky were driving around. "Shut up," it came from both of them at the same time.

Gerry Fisher fell silent in surprise.

"We have to start a manhunt immediately," said Joe Maxwell. "I'm informing all police forces."

But Jake didn't listen at all. He nudged Vicky rudely. "Come with me to the car."

She looked at him confused and hesitated.

"Come on," he hectically repeated and pulled her with him.

"What are you up to," Gerry Fisher shouted after them, but Jake didn't react.

"What are you up to?" Vicky asked him when they arrived at the car.

"I want to find my mother," Jake replied and opened the trunk where the guns they had got from Hal were stored.

Jake took several small-caliber pistols and told Vicky to stock up. He threw her the car key. "You have to drive. I have to concentrate."

"But how..." Vicky wanted to know and saw that Jake had already taken a seat in the passenger seat.

She hurried in the car and looked at her partner questioningly. He had put his fingertips to his temples and breathed deeply. He looked at her briefly. "I can't explain this to you now, but as long as she lives, I will always know where she is. It just is. Please trust me. So go ahead."

For a moment they looked deep into each other's eyes. Then Vicky nodded and started the car. She followed Jake's instructions, even though she didn't understand how he knew the route. He didn't use a modern tracking system. Sometimes he seemed to listen deep into himself, and then he gave her the next instruction on how to drive. She had suspected that the way led her out of New York; instead Jake pointed her into Manhattan. They came into an area of partly dilapidated warehouses that seemed familiar to Jake. There had to be a hidden entrance to the tunnels somewhere nearby, but it was rarely used. They stopped in front of the entrance to an underground car park of a shabby building.

"They're down there," Jake said.

Vicky looked at him in amazement. "Are you sure?"

Jake nodded. "Yeah. My mom's down there and she's still alive." He looked at her for a moment and remained silent. "You know, I can feel her in a way. In here." He knocked himself on the chest where his heart was beating.

Vicky hesitated only briefly. She nodded and pressed his hand. "Then let's go and get her out of there."

Both got out and pulled out their weapons.

_**New York; in an underground garage; Catherine, Samuel Henderson, driver, two bodyguards, Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Vincent**_

It was dark in the underground garage. The driver had therefore left the BMW lights on, shining on the rough concrete floor and walls. Samuel Henderson had drawn another gun, but he wasn't aiming at Catherine. "Come on, get out of the car." He waved her out.

Catherine struggled to get from the back seat of the car. She had abrasions on her arms that she had contracted in her resistance. She stood next to the car. An escape seemed pointless to her as long as she didn't know where she was. The driver had also got out. Samuel Henderson paid no further attention to her. He looked around searching. "When did the people want to come?" he asked the driver.

"They should have been here by now," he replied.

Catherine watched the black man. He was nervous, which didn't surprise her if he had actually made a deal with the organized crime. These people didn't need witnesses.

"Do you really think you can get out of here alive?" she asked provocatively.

Finally, Henderson took note of her again. "Just shut up. You'll get what you deserve."

"And what do you think you deserve," she asked calmly.

Henderson got angry. "Don't give me that shit."

At that moment they heard engine noise announcing another car.

"They're coming," the driver said superfluously.

At first, they were dazzled by headlights. When the car came to a stop, Catherine recognized a black limousine. In front two strong guys got out. They were dressed in dark suits and looked like bodyguards usually imagined.

"That's her," one asked a little surprised.

Henderson nodded. "Yes, she is."

Catherine tried to see something behind the dark windows of the limousine. She knew someone was sitting there watching her.

"Where's the money?" Henderson just asked.

Now Catherine had to laugh spontaneously. "So you let yourself be paid for it after all. I thought you wanted to avenge your father."

Henderson grinded angrily with his teeth.

"You won't get the money until the parcel is delivered," one of the guys said.

"It wasn't agreed," Henderson replied, pointing his gun at the men. Henderson's driver had also pulled a pistol and aimed at the bodyguards, but they were not impressed.

Silence spread, like icy cold in winter. Instinctively Catherine retreated a bit.

"What do you want to do now" asked one of the guys. "I don't think you want to tow yourself further with the ballast." With a nod he pointed to Catherine. "The money is deposited in a locker." With these words he pulled a key out of the pocket of his jacket. "Either you take it or you don't."

Samuel Henderson gritted his teeth again. The bodyguard threw the key at him and the black man caught him responsive.

"Come on, stow the package," the guy ordered his partner.

He moved in the direction of Catherine, who instinctively wanted to retreat even further.

A voice shouted out loud from the background through the bare underground car park. „Drop your weapons. You are surrounded."

"Damn it! It's a trap," the bodyguard cursed and pulled his pistol.

His partner pushed Catherine with force towards the limousine. She bounced against it and could only keep herself on her feet with difficulty.

„You ratted to us out." The bodyguard fired at Samuel Henderson and his driver, who had already taken cover behind their own car and fired back.

At that moment a shattering roar sounded through the whole underground car park. The shooting stopped abruptly. Paralyzed by this unusual animal sound, the opponents looked at each other questioningly.

"Drop your weapons," the voice now sounded closer from the dark background.

Jacob Chandler stepped into the pale light of the headlights with his gun drawn. Victoria Thompson followed him at a short distance and pointed a submachine gun at their opponents.

"Jake," whispered Catherine tonelessly.

In the next moment the side door of the limousine opened and Catherine was pulled violently from the inside into the vehicle.

"Mom!" screamed Jake.

Henderson took advantage of this moment and fired furiously at Jacob and Vicky. He thought he shook them off at the cemetery. Jake and Vicky ducked behind two pillars. One of the bodyguards jumped into the limousine on the driver's side and started the car. The other shot in Henderson's direction and hit his driver. Suddenly a big figure emerged from the shadow next to Henderson. Again this animal roar of a lion sounded. Samuel Henderson turned around and was shocked to the core. In front of him stood a lion in human form, angrily bare his teeth and raised his claws. With his silver-grey mane he looked like a mythical creature that had sprung from a fairy tale book. Then Henderson no longer noticed anything, for the claws of this creature had brutally laid themselves around his throat.

In the background, the second bodyguard fired at Jake and Vicky, who then fired a volley from her submachine gun. Since the limousine didn't offer any cover anymore, the man collapsed fatally hit. Meanwhile the limousine had turned on the parking deck with screeching tires and was heading for the exit, which was blocked by Vicky and Jake.

Vicky fired again from the submachine gun, but the armor of the car withstood. "Damn, the car's armored," she shouted and saw the car racing towards her.

"Aim for the tires," Jake screamed.

Vicky fired regardless that she would be caught at any moment. Jake was with her in one sentence, tearing her aside and into safety. The limousine raced by a hair's breadth past them, but from the side a huge figure jumped onto the vehicle and hit the windshield with its fist with full force, so that it tore, but did not break. The next moment Vincent lost his balance and was thrown over the car and to the ground by the speed, where he was overrun by the rear wheels. The limousine drove out of the underground car park and away. Dead silence spread.

_**New York; Limousine on the streets of Manhattan; Catherine, Cedric Hanlon, Bodyguard**_

"Sit down," said the voice harshly to her.

Catherine laboriously stood up on the upholstery of the limousine. Her wrist hurt and she gasped as she tried to support herself. Maybe it was broken when she was brutally pulled into the car. She leaned back and looked in the direction opposite her from where the voice had come. The dark tinted windows of the vehicle locked out the outside world. During the day they drove through New York's streets. But she knew it was useless to want to get anyone's attention from outside.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

The man in the shadow in front of her leaned forward and looked at her so that she saw his face for the first time. A well-cut exterior with black hair and deep blue eyes which icy cold shone. Catherine estimated him at mid to late thirties. He was dressed in a dark grey suit and tie. Catherine sensed who had brought her under his control. At the same time other worried thoughts went through her head. Vincent had been down there in the underground garage and Jacob. Both had tried to free her. She prayed that they were well. If they were well and still alive, there was hope. Both could feel where she was through her extraordinary perception. She had to cling to this hope and buy them time.

"So?" she asked again.

The man looked at her silently.

"Don't you want to talk to me?" she asked and ignored the throbbing pain in her wrist.

"You talk too much," the man growled at last. „You don't need to know where we're going. Just this much: This will be your final journey."

"This isn't the first time I've been told," Catherine replied. "And? Look at me. I'm still alive."

The man hissed furiously. "Yes. Like a cat with nine lives."

Catherine thought feverishly. "Why are you doing this? I didn't do anything to you. You are too young to have been affected by the events of that time."

"I was affected by the events of that time," the man answered angrily. "And now shut up." He leaned back into the cushions of the back seat and sank into brooding silence.

Catherine watched him and thought.

But a violent rolling of the limousine pulled her out of her pondering. At first it seemed as if the car had had to avoid an obstacle, but an increasingly violent bump indicated more serious problems.

The man pressed a button in a console next to him. "Mick, what's the matter?"

"Sir, we have problems. Apparently the front tires have lost air and are flat. I don't know how long we can drive on without arousing suspicion."

"Damn," shouted the man in the back seat and hit the center console next to him with full force.

_**New York; Office of the District Attorney; Joe Maxwell, Gerry Fisher**_

The police had quickly reached the cemetery. Nevertheless, it was much too late for persecution. Joe Maxwell also knew that. He was on the phone and continued to alert task forces.

The seriously injured man, identified by Jenny Aronson as Catherine's bodyguard, was taken to the nearest hospital in an ambulance.

Gerry Fisher seemed helpless and made no attempt to involve the FBI.

"Do you really think the police can find the vehicle with the poor description?" he asked Joe Maxwell.

"It's all we've got," he growled.

"Do you know where Jacob Chandler and his partner disappeared to?" Gerry Fisher continued.

"How should I know?" Joe Maxwell replied harshly. "Come on. From my office, I can better coordinate the task forces." With this he waved the man with him to his car.

They drove together to the offices of the New York District Attorney's Office, where Joe gave instructions to his assistant.

"Anna. Catherine Chandler was kidnapped today. I've already informed the police. Call all the police stations and make them aware of the seriousness of the situation."

The assistant nodded hectically and hurried back to her desk.

Joe stormed into his office. Gerry Fisher followed him and closed the door behind him.

Joe Maxwell turned to the FBI agent. "Actually, you should know much better where Chandler went. After all, you're his boss."

Gerry Fisher shrugged helplessly. "He hasn't talked to me or informed me about anything the last few days. Believe me; I'm as angry as you are. He is solely responsible for that."

"So?" the New York DA asked skeptically. "Do you know that Jacob Chandler suspects you of being in cahoots with the Mafia?"

"That's absurd. I don't know how he came up with such an idea," said Gerry Fisher, standing with his back to the door. "This whole thing with his mother seems to have gone to his head. He should never have been allowed to act as a bodyguard. There are too many personal feelings involved."

Joe Maxwell looked at the man in front of him thoughtfully. "Maybe he's just good at his job. Maybe too good for you. Why haven't you informed the FBI about the kidnapping yet?"

At that moment, Gerry Fisher pulled out his gun and pointed it at the New York DA. "Or you are the traitor. Just like thirty years ago, when the district attorney betrayed Catherine Chandler," Gerry Fisher said angrily.

_**New York; in an underground garage; Jake (Jacob) Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Vincent**_

Jake and Vicky lay together pressed close to the wall of the underground garage. Jake protected her with his body and held her in his hug. But the danger was over. They heard the limousine with screeching tires turning into the street from the exit. Quickly they got up.

"Is everything okay?" Jake asked.

Vicky nodded. "Yes."

They looked around. They were seeing two lifeless bodies in the BMW's headlights. But Jake ignored them and went up the driveway a bit.

Vicky walked towards the car. As a precaution she held her pistol in her hand. One man had been perforated by bullets and must have been dead on the spot. The other, whom she had met under the name Samuel Henderson, lay half on his side. She turned the lifeless body around and was startled.

"Oh God," she whispered quietly at the sight she saw. Henderson looked awful, as if a wild animal had attacked him. Blank horror was visible in his staring, dead eyes. Vicky was distracted as Jake screamed out loud.

"Pa, oh my God. Pa." He knelt next to a tall figure lying in the darkness of the driveway to the street.

Vicky ran quickly to him.

Jake bent over his father and felt his pulse on his neck. "He lives."

Vicky looked shocked at the lifeless figure. "What in God's name is that," she whispered.

In front of her lay a being half man and half lion. Anyway, his appearance came closest to this animal.

Desperately Jake looked up at her. "That is my father."

It took a while for the words to reach Vicky and she understood what he was saying. "Your father? But..."

Jake palpated his father helplessly. Vincent was unconscious. Still shocked by what she saw, Vicky looked down on the strange creature. The leg was strangely twisted by the rest of the body and had to be broken.

She cleared her throat. "His leg", she said in a rough voice. "Jake. His leg is probably broken." Slowly she sank down on her knees to him.

Jake felt the leg and tried to straighten it. A groan escaped Vincent and he slowly opened his eyes.

"Pa," Jake shouted again. "Can you hear me?" He leaned close to his father.

Vicky watched as the man, for that was him, looked around confused. She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"Pa, be careful," Jake tried to calm his father.

"Catherine?" Vincent looked at his son questioningly.

He grimaced painfully. "They got her and drove off with her."

Vincent wanted to straighten up immediately, but with an outcry he realized that he could not.

"Your leg is probably broken," Jacob informed him. "You must lie still."

Vincent straightened up his upper body. "I have to find Catherine." He grabbed Jake by the arm. "I sense she's in danger." Desperately he looked at his son.

"Pa, I know. I feel it too, but you can't walk with your leg." Helpless, Jake looked at his father. He felt torn back and forth.

With a firm grip Vincent grabbed his son by the shoulders. "Then you have to go after her and free her. Please. I cannot lose her again."

Father and son looked at each other for an endless moment.

Then Jake nodded decisively and turned his eyes to Vicky, who had followed the scene confused and uncomprehendingly. "Now I really need your help."

"But how..."

"Pa, if we help you to stand up, do you think you can make it to the entrance to the tunnels?" Jake asked.

Vincent nodded and gritted his teeth. Still confused, Vicky helped support the man.

"Jake, you have to save your mother," Vincent warned, feeling that they were running out of time.

"I'll help you up to the tunnels," his son replied and grabbed him around his shoulders.

Vicky took the other side and together they dragged themselves up the driveway. Vincent breathed heavily with pain. Outside it went around two corners behind the building. Jake could only hope that nobody saw them. At a shed, they had to go down a staircase and came into an abandoned basement from which a breakthrough in the wall led into the tunnels. Vicky looked questioningly at the hole in the wall. Jake took a pole off the floor and started knocking on the pipe that led from the basement through the wall and on. Vincent leaned dazed in pain against the wall.

After Jake had repeated the same punches a few times, he turned to Vicky.

"I have made an emergency call. Please lead my father further into the tunnels. Can you do it?"

Vicky nodded slowly. "Of course, but..."

"I know you have many questions, but I must go and free my mother."

"But how do you know where she is?" Vicky asked confused.

But Jake did not respond. "Please don't be afraid of his appearance. He is my father and I love him."

Jake looked at the woman in front of him and pressed her hand.

She only hesitated a fraction of a second, and then returned the pressure of his hand. "You can rely on me."

"Through the tunnels people will come to help. You can trust them."

Then he was gone and Vicky watched him for a moment in amazement. A moan next to her brought her back to the man leaning against the wall. Jacob had said he was his father. She couldn't see any resemblance between Jake and this animal-like creature, who was half a man tall and upright standing next to her and half an animal with strong body hair and the features of a big cat. He looked at her from painfully tormented eyes. It was the eyes that reminded her of Jake. They shimmered as clear as a deep mountain lake.

"Come on. You can lean on me. I'm stronger than I look like at first sight," she said. "I can take it." She grasped him courageously around his shoulder.

Vincent moaned painfully. He didn't want to be a burden to the woman, but saw no other way than to accept her offer. His leg hurt like hell. He could not burden it. But all this was meaningless given the fear he felt for Catherine. He could not lose her again. Step by step he laboriously hobbled with this strange woman deeper into the tunnels.

"Do you know your way around here?" she asked him gently.

"Yes", he gasped. "I am at home here."

"You... live here?" Vicky asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Vincent replied with a weak voice. "Where else am I supposed to live? Look at me."

"What is your name," Vicky continued, hoping that her questions would distract him from the pain in his leg.

"Vincent," he replied. "And you?"

"Vicky. Um, Victoria Thompson. I was with Jake at the..."

"Yes, I know. Catherine told me about you."

"Yes?" asked Vicky as they kept limping into the murky darkness.

Slowly she felt his weight on her shoulders. Jake had said there would be people coming to help. But how could he know that? Then she remembered.

"The pipes," she began to speak out loud. "Jake knocked on the pipes."

"We're exchanging news about it," Vincent brought up panting.

"We?" she asked.

"Our community living down here."

"You mean there are more people living down here?"

Vincent breathed heavily. "Jacob grew up down here."

Slowly and laboriously they moved on into the darkness. Yes, it was dark, Vicky noticed. But it wasn't this deep black darkness that exists in caves without lighting. Somewhere came a glimmer of brightness.

"Where come this strange light from?" Vicky asked.

"From the lower inhabited levels," Vincent gasped. "It penetrates through open cracks, so it's never completely dark. Nevertheless, we usually take a lamp or torch with us as we move through the tunnels."

"But not you," Vicky realized.

"No. My eyes are coping well with the darkness." Vincent stopped and leaned against the tunnel wall.

Worried, Vicky looked at him. "You need a doctor."

"Yes," Vincent replied and smiled sadly. "My father was a doctor. The man who raised me. But now we have Alexander. He studied medicine and will take care of me."

He straightened up and leaned willingly on her shoulder again. They went a few steps further and around a bend. There they could see the bright glow of lamps and people coming towards them.

_**New York; Limousine on the streets of New York; Catherine Chandler, Cedric Hanlon, Bodyguard**_

Slowly the limousine came to a stop. Catherine watched her opposite. He looked nervously outside. They had stopped at a roadside. Traffic flowed around them. Catherine registered that they were standing on the edge of a busy street somewhere in Manhattan.

The man in front of her pulled a pistol out of his pocket. "You don't move a muscle. Understood. Or you're dead."

Catherine refrained from pointing out that he intended to do so anyway. She watched him press the button on the intercom.

"Where are we?" he asked the man in front of him in the driver's seat.

"Upper East Side. But we can't get into the building anymore."

"Can't you just change the tire?"

"There are both flat in the front," the driver replied. "And I only have one spare wheel."

The man waited for further instructions. It took a long time.

"Then we have to continue on foot," decided the dark-haired man.

"Sir, Mr. Hanlon, that might attract the attention of passers-by."

"That can't be helped," Cedric Hanlon replied harshly. "Get out of the car as normal and open my side door." He turned his attention to Catherine. "And now you will do exactly what I tell you to do. You keep quiet and walk down the street with us as if we belonged together and just wanted to take a stroll."

Catherine looked at him with big eyes. "You are the son of Patrick Hanlon. The man who was bombed into the air for giving a book of notes to Joe Maxwell."

The younger one looked at her angrily. "Yes. So you see I was affected by the events of that time. After the death of my father, the 'family' took me in. Me and my mother."

"But your father would never have wanted that. He wanted to do the right thing and put an end to the criminal organization." Catherine tried to put together the connections between what had happened then and what was happening just now.

"My father was weak," Cedric Hanlon replied succinctly. "But I am different. Stronger. And with your death I will bring satisfaction to the 'family'."

"And presumably rise further in rank and esteem," Catherine added. "Why then wait and do not do immediately what you want to do." She looked at him provocatively.

At that moment the door next to Hanlon opened.

_**New York; in the car; Jake (Jacob) Chandler**_

Jake tried to focus. It wasn't easy for him. He felt fear and nervousness and hurried back to his car. He sat behind the wheel and concentrated on his mother. He saw her in front of him and felt that throbbing inside him. He started the car abruptly. They hadn't got far.

_**New York; Office of Joe Maxwell; Joe Maxwell, Gerry Fisher, Anna Stanton, Jenny Aronson**_

"Are you out of your mind now," Joe Maxwell yelled at the FBI man. "You're fantasizing."

"So? You mean?" Gerry Fisher asked. "I want to tell you what you're doing. You will now whistle back your bulk of police."

Joe Maxwell looked at the man watchfully. Was he crazy or was it even worse? He looked at the gun.

Gerry Fisher became impatient. "Come on. Go ahead!"

Slowly Joe shook his head. „You'll never get away with it."

"So? Do you think so? The men behind me have more power than you can even imagine in a dream. You have no idea." Gerry Fisher talked himself into rage.

"But I have. So, Jacob Chandler was right when he suspected you of being in cahoots with organized crime." Maxwell saw the facts crystal clear.

"What do you know?" the FBI agent asked back. "You're just a little New York DA. And soon you were. Your time is up. You're going to whistle your people back now, and then we're both going on a nice little trip."

Slowly Joe shook his head. "I'm not going to do that."

Gerry Fisher was nervously waving his pistol around. "Shall I shoot you right here?"

"Shoot me," Joe provoked the man. "You'll never get out of here alive."

Fisher looked around hectically.

"Just tell me one thing," Joe continued. "Why? Why do you get involved with people like that?"

"You don't know what that's like," Gerry Fisher explained surprisingly. "You do everything for your country. You sacrifice your whole life and your time and then there's nothing left."

Joe looked at the man thoughtfully. "Do you have the feeling you haven't gotten enough back?"

Gerry Fisher swayed and began to sweat. "My wife has cancer. I didn't have enough money to pay the hospital bills. In a situation like that, you're all alone."

"I'm sorry," Joe replied. "But that's no reason to sell yourself to the Mafia."

"Not?" Fisher asked back. "Anyway, my wife is still alive."

"But you won't get anything out of it if you go on like this." Joe looked at the FBI agent in an intense way. "Listen Fisher, let's talk reasonably, then I can help you get off lightly."

Now Gerry Fisher got angry. "You can't do shit. You pick up your damn phone now and call your people back." He was angry and walked up to Joe and aimed his gun at the New York DA. "Come on."

The next moment he was hit in the back of his head by a violent blow. Unconscious, Gerry Fisher sank to the ground. The gun slipped out of his hand.

Surprised, Joe Maxwell looked at the man on the ground and then up. "Jenny," he shouted with relief.

Determined to do anything, Jenny Aronson stood before the unconscious man. She had walked through the door unnoticed, holding a shoe with a high heel in her hand with which she had knocked down Gerry Fisher. "That wicked asshole."

"Jenny," Joe repeated and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Where did you come from?"

"Well, from the cemetery, after you had disappeared so quickly. I wanted to know if there was anything else, I could do to find Catherine. That's when I heard your dispute with this... this monster." Angrily she looked at him.

"God, I'm really glad you're here," Joe said and hugged her spontaneously.

He hurriedly called some policemen out of the building who took Gerry Fisher into custody who slowly regained consciousness. Joe ignored him. He would take care of that later. He was looking for his assistant, who was not at her desk. He found her at the other end of the open-plan office with a colleague who hectically talked at her and held a phone in his hand at the same time. Anna Stanton nodded to the man several times, then turned around and was shocked to see Gerry Fisher being taken away.

She hurried to her boss. "Mr. Maxwell, for God's sake, what happened?"

"I'll explain later, Anna. Have you heard anything new from Catherine Chandler?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "A distress call has just come in. In a shopping mall on the Upper East Side, two armed men were being observed, apparently chasing an elderly woman. The two men are unknown, but the woman's description fits Catherine Chandler."

"Damn," Joe cursed out loud. He pulled Jenny Aronson's arm. "Come with me."

_**New York; shopping mall in Manhattan; Catherine Chandler, Cedric Hanlon, his bodyguard**_

Catherine ran. Several times she looked around frantically for her two pursuers. She sought shelter in the crowd. It had been easy to escape Cedric Hanlon and his bodyguard. Almost too easy, but immediately she pushed that thought aside. It was the only chance she would get. She knew that instinctively.

When they got out of the limousine together, Hanlon had put his gun away before. Of course, he didn't want them to stand out on the crowded sidewalk. This had been the opportunity for her. At first, she had acted as if she was playing the game and had gone along with them flanked to the right and left of the two men. Then they passed the entrance to a shopping mall. In a flash she had detached herself from the center of the two and had disappeared through the electronic door into the mall. She had surprised them. She knew that. But they wouldn't just let her run without a fight now that she knew exactly who was behind it.

The mall stretched over several floors. Catherine disappeared into a department store and drove, no, she rushed up an escalator. She looked around. There were the two men. They hadn't let themselves be irritated by her zigzag course and had kept a constant eye on her. Catherine hurriedly rushed between the people along the aisle of the shopping mall past various small shops and past the curious looks of the people. Suddenly screams sounded behind her.

"The men are armed," someone shouted out loud.

When Catherine looked around again, she realized that her pursuers had indeed drawn their weapons and were pointing at her. She ducked instinctively and hurried on. A shot hissed through the air and past her by a hair's breadth. The people around her began to scream and fled in panic. Maybe this was her chance. She fought her way through the wildly calling people. There was a door to the stairwell. She ripped it open and hurried down the stairs. Other people followed her example fleeing from the two men. On the one hand it was a protection for her; on the other hand, she didn't want any innocent person to be harmed. Therefore, she opened the door on the ground floor and instructed the following people.

"This is the way out. Quickly."

The people fled on their way out of the shopping center and onto the street.

Catherine took the path down the stairs to the basement. There she found a door leading to a maintenance room. Another door came off the room. She hoped that her pursuers had lost track of her and had followed the flow of people out. She entered a hall that obviously served as a warehouse for goods. Pallets of cartons piled up. She slowed her pace and looked around carefully. There had to be another access. The pallets could not have been passed through the narrow door through which she had entered. There. On the opposite side was a ramp that obviously led up to the road. The access to the street was closed by a stable gate. Catherine hesitated. She shied away from opening the gate, fearing that this would only draw attention to her again. Maybe there was another way out from here that was less conspicuous. When she turned around, she was startled. In front of her stood Cedric Hanlon with his pistol in his hand.

"Nice try, but useless," he growled angrily. "Since when are you so ruthless and putting innocent people in danger?"

He coarsely grabbed Catherine's arm so that she screamed in pain. She had completely forgotten her maltreated wrist as she fled.

"We now leave this establishment through the back exit, and you don't make a sound anymore. Did you understand me," Hanlon shouted now, as if he was about to lose his nerve.

Behind him, his bodyguard showed up. "Mr. Hanlon", he said nervously, "We can't just get out of here. Due to the mass panic, security forces have moved in. Police cars are already standing in front, and it's only a matter of time before they have surrounded the building."

Cedric Hanlon felt that he was trapped. Catherine smelled his unpleasant sweat. He was afraid. She could see on his face how it worked inside him. The next moment he raised his hand and punched her in the face. Then he brutally knocked her to the ground so that she lay in front of him on all fours.

"All right, you bitch. Here then." With these words he raised his arm and aimed at Catherine's head.

Then a shot tore up the silence.

_**New York; on the streets and in front of the shopping mall; Joe Maxwell, Jenny Aronson, policemen, witnesses**_

Joe Maxwell tapped wildly on his cell phone as he was towing Jenny through the parking garage to his car.

"Yes, hello," he called hectically into his phone. "Joe Maxwell speaking. I'm on my way to the mall. Is there anything new yet?" Meanwhile, he opened the car with the remote and told Jenny to get in. "Send every man you have there. It's life and death."

He raced out into the streets of Manhattan.

"Is it really sure it's Catherine?" Jenny asked fearfully.

"If anyone can cause such a riot, it's Catherine," Joe said firmly. "She won't admit defeat without a fight."

Joe drove quickly through the New York city traffic. Two blocks from her destination, the road had been blocked off by patrol cars. Joe simply put his car in front of the patrol car, and when the policeman tried to send him away, he held his New York District Attorney's ID in his face. Joe didn't care about the reaction any more. He hurried along with Jenny. It wasn't hard to tell where they had to go. There were several ambulances in front of the mall. And everywhere on the street there were people who had obviously fled the building. And people were still pouring out the front door.

Joe turned to one of the policemen standing by a civilian patrol car. He held out his ID to him. "Do you know anything about the armed men? One of them must be a black man."

The man shook his head. "According to the witnesses, they are two white men. Some of our men are pure and are now combing through the shop, or recovering injured people trampled down by the mass panic. The building has several floors. The guys can be anywhere. Maybe they fled under the protection of the fleeing people."

"Two white men" Joe asked in disbelief. "Where did you get the description that the guys were after an older woman? I'd like to talk to the eyewitnesses."

The policeman nodded willingly and pointed to a big van that was used as a police car. "They're back there."

"Thank you," Joe mumbled.

The witnesses had blankets put around their shoulders. The horror of the events was written all over their faces.

"You saw the woman and the two armed men?" Joe asked directly.

An older man answered. "Yes. The woman seemed to be running away from something. I was still surprised that she was in such a hurry and suddenly..."

"Yes?" Joe asked. "What happened then?

"I don't know where from, but suddenly..."

An older woman interfered, obviously his wife. "Suddenly we heard shots and people started screaming."

"Would you recognize the woman in a photo?" Joe asked the two.

"I don't know," the man said. "It all happened so fast."

"A moment," Jenny Aronson intervened. "I saved the latest newspaper reports about Catherine on my smartphone."

A little later Joe and Jenny had the certainty that Catherine had to be somewhere in the building. Joe asked himself through to the head of operations.

"Do you have contact with your men inside?" he asked him.

"Yes, why?" he asked back.

"The two armed men are chasing a woman who was kidnapped this morning. It is Catherine Chandler. We have to find her alive," Joe said to the head of operations.

He nodded: "My men do everything possible, but at the moment the situation is still very confusing. I can't promise you anything."

Joe felt resignation rising in him. He was doomed to inactivity.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Vicky, Jamie, Alexander, Luke, Mouse**_

Several men had come and one woman. One of the men carefully examined Vincent's leg.

"We need a stretcher," he said, and another one ran off immediately.

"What happened?" asked the woman Vincent.

Breathing heavily, Vincent looked at her. "Catherine was kidnapped. From men who want to kill her."

"Oh God," she whispered. "Then we have to do something."

"Jacob follows her. But he is alone. Jamie, you have to let Mouse know and..."

"We need to get you out of here first and get you medical," interrupted the man who examined him.

"Alexander, I..."

"What about Geoffrey. I thought he had been around to support Jacob," Jamie asked now.

"I don't know what happened to him," Vincent replied.

"Do you mean the man who accompanied Catherine this morning," Victoria Thompson interfered. She had been watching the people silently so far. "He was seriously injured at the cemetery and presumably hospitalized."

Now the people who were strangers to her took notice of her for the first time.

"Who are you?" Jamie asked.

"She is Jacob's partner. She's protecting Catherine," Vincent replied gasping for pain.

"My name is Victoria Thompson and I work for the FBI just like Jake," Vicky introduced herself.

"I'm Jamie." Jamie reached out to her. She pointed to the others. "That's Alexander and Luke. Gideon went to get a stretcher."

The man with the stretcher rushed through the tunnels. Mouse appeared in tow and listened to the report of the events as they hoisted Vincent onto the stretcher and lifted him. Vicky followed the people deeper into the tunnels. They wore simple patched robes, but seemed normal otherwise. She was also amazed by the labyrinth of corridors and tunnels and wondered that these strangers seemed to know exactly where they were.

"We have to find out which hospital Geoffrey was admitted to and how he is doing," she heard the woman named Jamie say to the men.

From the stretcher Vicky heard the voice of the strange lion man. "Catherine. Jacob is all alone." He reached for Mouse's arm. "Mouse, Jamie. I can't lose her again. Please."

Jamie answered desperately. "But we don't know where she is. If Jacob can feel where she is through the connection to her, he can definitely..."

Vincent interrupted her. "I can feel it again, Jamie. That's why I rushed to her to save her. I know exactly where she is."

They reached the big chamber, with a couch inside, which obviously served as a bed.

"Put him on it," Alexander instructed the others and suddenly had a doctor's bag in his hand. "Vincent, I have to straighten your leg now."

"Wait, you can feel where Catherine is right now," Jamie asked.

Victoria Thompson also was listening when she realized what that meant.

"If you can tell me where she is, then I can come to Jake's aid," she turned directly to Vincent.

Instead of getting an immediate answer, she again faced the curious and sometimes suspicious looks of the people.

"Can we trust her?" Jamie asked Vincent.

"Catherine and Jake trust her," he said.

"Please. I want to help." Vicky spoke forcefully in the round. "I care a lot about Catherine, and I don't want anything to happen to her. So, if you can tell me where..."

Vincent gave himself a jolt and said the place. "There's a direct access to the tunnels."

"Jacob knows that too," Mouse said. "If he's smart, he'll have taken the way underground."

"You mean you can get there directly from here?" Vicky asked. "Can anyone lead me?" She looked around questioningly.

"I'll take you there," Luke said.

"I'm going with you," Jamie said immediately, but Mouse held her back by the arm.

"No. Let the pros do it, honey."

"We should hurry," Vicky said and turned to Vincent. "Don't worry about it. I'll bring you Catherine and your son back alive. I promise you that." She hurriedly left the room with the man named Luke.

She heard the doctor say. "This is going to hurt now. Hold him tight." Then an animal-like growl and roar sounded, but Vicky didn't care anymore. Her many questions had to wait.

_**New York; shopping mall in Manhattan; Catherine Chandler, Jacob Chandler, Cedric Hanlon, his bodyguard**_

After the shot, the scene seemed to be frozen. Catherine looked up at Cedric Hanlon in disbelief, who holding his injured hand. His weapon had slipped out of his hand. He was about to bend over when a voice from the background stopped him.

"Don't do that." Jacob.

Catherine gasped in relief and slowly straightened up.

"Mom, are you all right," he asked calmly.

"Yes," she replied, "but watch out, the other guy has..." She couldn't finish the warning.

Without Jacob noticing it in the background where he was, the bodyguard pulled his gun out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He turned around at lightning speed and fired.

"Jacob," cried Catherine. She wanted to hurry to her son, but Cedric Hanlon stood in her way with a sneering grin. He struck, so that Catherine staggered. From the corner of her eye she saw her son grabbing his shoulder. He fired at the other guy who fired back. Despite his injury, Jacob bridged the short distance to the man and threw himself at him before he could fire more shots.

Meanwhile, Cedric Hanlon bent down to his own weapon, which he had dropped. But Catherine pushed him aside with all the strength she could muster. He cursed. Catherine managed just in time to kick the weapon out of reach under one of the pallets. Then Hanlon jumped angrily at her. He seemed driven to extremes. Catherine's physical strength was at an end. With her injured wrist and exhausted from the escape, she had nothing left to oppose her opponent. His hands closed around her throat and squeezed. Weak at the edge of her consciousness, she heard a tremendous roar. Vincent, she thought. Vincent must have come to save her. The shortness of breath made Cedric Hanlon's face blur before her eyes. Only the roar in the background remained. It became louder and clearer. The next moment the clasp loosened around Catherine's neck. She stayed lying and thought she was dead. But then she tried to breathe, and the oxygen flowed through her maltreated throat and into her lungs. Several times she breathed deeply and tried to grasp a clear thought. In the background she heard fighting noises and the roar of...

She straightened up, but there was no sign of Vincent. Instead, Jacob fought with Cedric Hanlon. The bodyguard was already blood-drenched and lifeless on the floor. With fright and fascination Catherine watched as her son threw his opponent against the wall several times with tremendous force. He seemed to be ruled by strange, powerful forces. Hanlon was barely conscious. Jacob paused only briefly, pressed the man against the wall and from his throat came the primal roar of a lion that Catherine had only heard from his father. The next moment Jacob raised his hand. But that wasn't a hand anymore. From his fingertips claws were extended, which he sank into his opponent without any control. Catherine watched stunned as her son killed the man in sheer frenzy. When Hanlon was hanging limply in his clutches, Jacob let him go. Covered with blood and dead, Cedric Hanlon slipped to the ground. Jacob looked down at him. He seemed to slowly find his way back to reality.

"Jacob," Catherine whispered in a croaking voice. "Jake, for God's sake."

He didn't notice her. Instead he looked at his hands and Cedric Hanlon in horror. He staggered a few steps back until he bumped into a carton and sank on it.

Catherine tried to get on her feet. It took a moment. She was dizzy. Slowly she dragged herself to her son and sank to her knees in front of him.

"Jacob," she whispered quietly.

He lifted his head and looked at her with an empty gaze that hit her to the core.

"Now you know," he said, barely perceptible. "I am like him. I'm like Pa."

Catherine closed her eyes briefly. Then she took him in her arms and held him like a child.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Victoria Thompson, Luke**_

Victoria hurried through the tunnels with the man named Luke. Without someone who knew, she would have been hopelessly lost in this labyrinth of corridors and chambers.

"Is it still far?" she asked the man in front of her.

"No. It may seem to you that it is a long way through the many twists and corridors," Luke said. "We still have to go up two levels."

Vicky hadn't even noticed that they were so deep underground. Thoughts shot through her head about what she had seen and experienced today. For a moment she wondered if she was in a dream and yet the events of the day were reality. Just like those tunnels she was walking through and the people who obviously lived down here and the strange man who was supposed to be Jake's father.

They came to a staircase that spiraled upwards. Fortunately, she was well trained so that there were no problems up the stairs. They got into a round concrete tunnel, as there were for drainage pipes or the subway. So now they had to be much further above. But they seemed to have landed in a dead end, because in front of them was a locked grid with a wall behind it. Luke unerringly operated a mechanism that was hidden in the dark corner of the wall and behind the grid a door opened automatically.

"Come on," Luke said and opened the gate.

Vicky followed the man in amazement. Now they were surrounded by brick walls.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"We are under the shopping mall. It's the place Vincent said," Luke explained, going on to a ladder embedded in a wall and leading up. "There it goes up to the basement."

Vicky looked up, but could see only a weak door in the wall. She didn't know where she was going to get out, but she had to try to help Jake and Catherine. It wasn't just a job for her, but she immediately put that thought to one side again. She had to concentrate and be prepared for anything that might await her upstairs.

"Stay down here and watch out," she told the man.

"Wouldn't it be better if I came with you," Luke said.

"Better not. You don't have a gun," Vicky said. "One of your people has already been hurt today. I am trained for such situations. Believe me."

Luke nodded. "All right. I'll wait here."

Vicky pulled out her gun and started climbing up the ladder.

_**New York; on the streets and in front of the mall; Joe Maxwell, Jenny Aronson, policeman**_

Joe Maxwell ran nervously back and forth between the emergency vehicles outside the shopping mall. Jenny watched him helplessly.

"Maybe we shouldn't stand in the way here," she said, "I'm sure the cops will do anything to get her out of there alive."

Joe shook his head testily. "I don't know. Something's wrong with the whole story. The man who kidnapped her was a black man."

Someone from the head of operation came up to him. "Joe Maxwell?"

"Yes, that's me. Is there anything new?"

The man nodded. "Yes. We found the car Mrs. Chandler was kidnapped in from the cemetery today. It was standing in an underground car park nearby. Next to it were two dead men, one of whom was named Samuel Henderson and worked for the American Embassy in Germany."

"Do you have any indication of...?" Joe couldn't talk any further.

"No, sir. Nothing. No indication of Mrs. Chandler's whereabouts."

"Damn!" Joe cursed out loud.

"Then she's really in there," concluded Jenny Aronson, who had been listening.

Both of them looked over at the shopping mall.

_**New York; basement of the shopping mall and the tunnels; Catherine Chandler, Jacob Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Luke**_

Catherine couldn't tell how long she was holding her son in her arms. Sounds above them made her raise her head. She heard footsteps. Probably policemen were searching the mall.

"Jacob," she said quietly. She looked around and saw the two bodies of the men. "We have to get out of here."

When he didn't react immediately, she grabbed his two hands and pulled him up. "People are coming. Probably police. We can't stay here."

Jake looked around as if he was awakening from a deep dream. "My weapon," he mumbled and looked around looking. It was lying on the ground and he put it in his pocket. When they heard voices from above, they both paused for a moment.

"How do we get out of here?" Catherine asked.

Wordlessly, Jacob grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. They went through the door that led back to the boiler room. They both stopped abruptly in shock.

"Cathy, Jake," Victoria Thompson shouted in surprise. "What in the world..."

"Vicky." Catherine was relieved to see her. "How did you get here?"

"Through the tunnels," Vicky replied automatically.

On the stairs down to the basement footsteps approached.

"We have to get out of here," Jacob shouted. He turned to the hidden flap in the wall and opened it. "Go, Mom. Down here."

Catherine gritted her teeth and squeezed through the flap onto the ladder.

"Now you," Jake said to Vicky.

Confused, she followed his orders. Jake was the last to follow and carefully closed the flap so no one noticed the secret access. When he arrived downstairs, Catherine and Vicky waited with Luke. Jake nodded to the man only briefly.

"Let's get out of here quickly," he said harshly.

"Shouldn't we have waited for the police above?" Vicky asked.

"No," Jacob and Catherine replied at the same time.

Silently they walked through the tunnels. Catherine held her wrist.

"You're hurt," Vicky said. "You need a doctor."

"No, it's all right," Catherine fended off.

"What about Pa?" Jake asked at that moment, as if he had only just remembered the previous events.

"What about Vincent?" asked Catherine now, shocked.

"He was injured in the garage," Jacob said.

"We got him into his chamber and Alexander takes care of him," Luke explained.

"His leg is broken," Vicky explained.

Catherine involuntarily accelerated her step. "I have to go to him. He needs me."

"Mom!" called Jacob after her, but she didn't listen to him.

"Cathy, you're hurt yourself. Actually, we should take you to a hospital and let the police know you're okay so they don't keep looking for you." Victoria hurried after her.

"We'll be right there," Luke said reassuringly. "Catherine is safe here. Safer than above. Believe me."

Jacob didn't pay attention to both of them and accelerated his steps until he had caught up with his mother. He grabbed her by the arm and held her tight.

"Mom!" Desperately he looked at her. "Pa knows nothing."

He didn't say more, but she understood him that way. Shortly Catherine stroked her son's cheek. It was a tender gesture to calm him down, accompanied by a smile of compassion. She said nothing more and then continued her way. Some of the residents had gathered in front of Vincent's chamber when the small group arrived.

"Catherine," Jamie shouted. "Thank God you're alive."

The women spontaneously embraced each other.

"Vincent?" asked Catherine.

"He's fine," Jamie reassured her, "Alexander splinted his leg. Otherwise, he seems to have got off lightly."

Catherine nodded gratefully and then stepped through the narrow corridor in Vincent's chamber. Jacob hesitated behind her, as if thinking whether to follow her or not. Then he went to the entrance to make sure his father was all right. Catherine sat with him on the bed.

"Catherine," Vincent sighed mat. He lay upright with his upper body supported by pillows.

She grabbed him by the hands. "I'm fine." She smiled at him in tears, bent forward and leaned her forehead against his.

Vincent embraced her with his arms and held her tight. Jacob watched them both from the entrance. Vicky had stood next to him. Curiously she changed the view from the couple on the bed to the man next to her. She watched in fascination as Jake looked over at his parents and suddenly began to smile. He smiled. A smile full of relief and joy. Familiar and very intimate. Embarrassed and strangely touched by the fact that she saw him like this, she wanted to turn away when the conversation stopped her.

"How did you manage to escape?" Vincent asked quietly.

Catherine raised her head and sat up again. She had to clear her throat. "Jacob," she just replied, "Jacob freed me." That was all she said.

Then she turned to her son, whose breath had faltered before her answer. She raised her arm and waved him with a gesture of her hand to Vincent and herself. Slowly Jake went to his parents and sat down with them.

"It's all good Pa," he said then. "Mom's safe now."

Catherine smiled painfully at him. Then she pulled him to herself and Vincent and held both tightly.

Deeply moved by what she saw, Vicky turned away from the entrance.

_**New York; on the streets and in front of the shopping mall; Joe Maxwell, Jenny Aronson, chief of operations, policemen**_

"We're clear to go in," the chief of operations told Joe Maxwell.

"Did you find Catherine Chandler?" Joe asked when they were on their way into the building.

"No, but two dead," replied the chief of operations.

They were led by a policeman who, heavily armed, had been combing the building with his unit. They followed him down to the basement, past a boiler room and into a large storage room. The two dead men looked terrible.

"Do they look familiar to you?" the chief of operations asked the New York District Attorney.

He shook his head. "No."

"Well. It's certainly not easy, the way they are looking now," said one of the policemen standing there.

People from forensics showed up. Stunned, Joe watched them start searching the men's clothing. One of the dead had an ID card with him.

"Cedric Hanlon," read the officer-in-charge out loud. "I know the name from organized crime circles."

"Hanlon" asked Joe.

"Yes, do you know him?" asked the policeman.

Joe nodded gloomily. "I knew his father. Unfortunately, the boy went astray after his death."

"Well, as far as I know, he was well on his way to becoming a big player in certain criminal circles," said the chief of operations.

"Did you find any other clues indicating Catherine Chandler's whereabouts?" asked Joe.

"Not so far, but it can take a while until we've checked everything," said the chief of operations.

"Let me know if you find anything," Joe said.

With one last look at the crime scene, he disappeared. Jenny Aronson was waiting outside the building.

"Catherine?" she asked.

Joe shook his head regretfully. "She has disappeared without a trace, but not everything has been searched yet. Two men are dead, who had obviously been chasing her."

Jenny took a trembling breath. "Maybe it's better that way," she said.

Frowning, Joe looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe it's better if she stays gone." Jenny brought about a faint smile. "It's not like it's the first time."

Joe looked at Jenny in consternation and looked then back to the building. He wanted to know what had happened and he wanted his friend to be safe. He looked back at Jenny.

"Come", she said, "take me home. It's been a long day."

53


	6. Farewells

**Farewells**

_**For the lord will give his angels charge over thee,**_

_**To keep thee in all thy ways.**_

_**They shall bear thee up in their hands,**_

_**Lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.**_

_**(Psalm 91:11-12)**_

_**New York; somewhere in the vicinity of the city; Joe Maxwell, a large posse of police**_

They struck under the cover of darkness. It was early in the morning and no one would expect them to show up.

Joe Maxwell, the New York district attorney, stood nervously behind the ranks of police cars and special task forces. Although he hadn't slept all night, he didn't feel tired. On the contrary. Encouraged and full of adrenaline, he could not remember ever having been responsible for a mission of this magnitude. Everything had to go very fast. After the mayor had given his consent to the action, Joe did not want to risk that the criminal syndicates would get wind of it through any leaks and be warned. So he had all police and Special Forces drum up what was possible. The night had been filled with briefings and the coordination of operations, both in terms of time and personnel. They would strike at eight different locations and deal a blow to organized crime from which they would not recover for years to come. Joe Maxwell hoped so. He wanted to free New York from these gangsters, as far as it was possible. He himself had joined the task forces that were to storm Cedric Hanlon's estate. Well secured it lay in front of them. In the back area a drug kitchen was suspected, Joe knew that. Nothing indicated that the residents knew. They didn't know that their boss, Cedric Hanlon, was already dead. Joe hadn't let any of it get outside. Nevertheless, somebody must have noticed his absence since yesterday.

But Joe Maxwell didn't think that far. He had come exactly here for another reason. Cedric Hanlon had to do with the kidnapping of Catherine Chandler and had died due to circumstances that had not yet been clarified. Catherine had since disappeared and Joe hoped to get clues as to her whereabouts at the estate or by questioning Hanlon's employees.

"It starts" someone shouted to him.

Joe watched tense from a distance as two policemen rang the bell at the gate of the estate to identify themselves with the search warrant and gain access. They tried it several times, but nothing happened at the gate. The estate was surrounded. No one could escape through the back door. The policemen stepped back from the gate and the Special Force specialists took their place.

Joe Maxwell stayed at the vehicle and watched as the Special Force people gained access. One by one, they disappeared inside the building. Then for a long time there was nothing to see or hear. Joe stood tense together with the remaining policemen and waited. The minutes went by endlessly. Then shots and shouts sounded and then shots again. You could literally see everyone standing up all around and ready to storm off if necessary. Joe leaned into the police vehicle and to the man at the communication system and the screen on which the pictures were being transmitted by a mobile camera that one of the Special Ops team had attached to his clothes.

The camera captured several men lying lifeless on the ground, behind them shadowy the furnishings of a laboratory, presumably the drug kitchen.

"Did the men find anything?" Joe asked.

The man in front of the screen shook his head. "When they came into the back area, fire was opened on them, but nothing happened to our people." He was interrupted by voices he heard through headphones. He listened while Joe Maxwell waited eagerly.

"And?" he asked when the policeman turned back to him.

"Nothing. Except for the guys who fired with their guns, and a few maids."

Joe turned away in resignation. He had to know how things had gone at the other locations, but feared that there was no trace of Catherine there either.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jacob Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Catherine**_

Jacob Chandler hadn't slept much. The events of the past day had haunted him to his dreams. He was lying in one of the guest beds in a chamber in the tunnels, but he hadn't bothered to take off his clothes. Thoughts whirled in his head and could not be turned off. The fear for his mother and then... He didn't want to think about it any further. He forbade himself to do so. And yet he raised his hands involuntarily and looked at them. How normal they looked now again. Nothing was to be seen of... He quickly wiped the thought aside. It still had to be early. Jake sat up and looked at his watch. His clothes looked pretty battered from the fight, and it was bloodstained. Alexander had taken care of the grazing shot on his arm. It hardly hurt. He had to change urgently, and he had to go above. He saw the bowl of water on a small table next to the bed. The cold water refreshed him and made his mind work again. He had to go upstairs, change clothes and inform Joe Maxwell, the New York DA, that his mother was safe. Jake could only have guessed that Maxwell had put all available forces on finding Catherine Chandler.

Through the dimly lit tunnel Jacob walked slowly to the next chamber and looked carefully into. Vicky lay on the wide bed. After all, she had put down her shoes, blazer and pistol holster. Otherwise she lay dressed on the bed and slept. Her ponytail, which she always wore, was loosened, and her long hair spread open on the pillow. Jake felt an unfamiliar emotion at his sleeping partner from the FBI, who apparently felt safe here. He hesitated to disturb the peaceful image, but they had to leave. Slowly he stepped to her and bent down to her.

"Vicky," he whispered quietly, hoping she could hear him. "Vicky." More emphatically.

She mumbled something incomprehensible in her sleep and Jake had to smile involuntarily. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly touched her arm. "Vicky."

Finally she opened her eyes. Brown eyes Jake noticed and wondered that he had never noticed it before. It took a moment for her to perceive him.

"We should go up," he said quietly.

She looked around briefly disoriented, then sat up. Jake moved a bit to the side.

"What time is it?" she asked quietly. Her voice was still hoarse from sleep.

"Half past five," Jake replied.

"Oh," Vicky murmured. "I didn't want to sleep that long. Strange." She looked around irritated in the chamber with the guest bed, on which she and Jake were now sitting next to each other.

"What's strange?" asked Jake.

"How peaceful it is down here." She shook her head slightly, as if she still couldn't believe what she saw. Her long hair striped Jake's shoulder. "I slept deep and hard. It's like..."

"...like in another world," Jake completed the sentence. "That's how I always feel when I stay here."

"But you grew up here, you're at home here," Vicky said.

Jake smiled slightly. "Yes, that's me." He got serious again. "Vicky, this world down here is a secret. There are a few people upstairs, helpers who know, but otherwise..."

"I see," Vicky objected. " Nobody will find out anything from me. You can count on me."

Jake nodded. He knew that. He had known all along that he could trust her.

"Come," he said and pulled her up. "You can freshen up while I wait outside." He pointed to the wash bowl on the nightstand and left the chamber.

He didn't have to wait long. Vicky wore her ponytail and blazer again and looked like the FBI agent he knew.

"And now what?" she asked.

"Come with me. We have to go upstairs and talk to the DA. I just want to check on my parents," Jake explained.

She nodded and followed him through the tunnels.

Catherine hadn't slept. She sat in Vincent's chamber and watched over his sleep. He slept restlessly, which was not surprising as he must have been in great pain caused by his broken leg. Tenderly she stroked his arm.

"Mom." The call was so quiet that she almost didn't hear him. She turned around. At the entrance stood Jacob and behind him Victoria.

Catherine stood up and walked over to them. She looked her son seriously in the face and he knew what she was thinking. Someone more she was worried about. It was hard for Jake to withstand his mother's haunting gaze. She now knew about him. She knew his secret. He lowered his gaze.

"Vicky and I are going above. We have to change and..."

"Yes?" she asked into his sentence.

"I'll tell Joe Maxwell you're okay," Jacob said.

Catherine frowned. "That won't do." Perplexed, she looked over her shoulder back at the sleeping Vincent, and then looked down at herself. She was still wearing the black clothes she had worn to Jenny's husband's funeral. Her wrist had been bandaged. Alexander had said it was just sprained. Nevertheless, she could hardly move it.

"I should come with you to explain the whole thing," she said to her son and looked at him with a clear ambiguous look.

He understood. Of course his secret was safe with her, just as the secret about his father had been safe with her all these years.

But he shook his head. "No, Mom. Pa needs you, and you should rest."

"I can't let you take the blame for all this alone. I have to go above and put the things right," said Catherine.

Now Vicky interfered. "Jake is right, Cathy. That doesn't have to be now. Let's go upstairs and let them know you're safe. Then we can come up with a plan afterwards on how to proceed."

That was enough. Catherine nodded to them slowly. Only now did she feel a leaden tiredness that descended on her. "Maybe you're right."

"You should really get some sleep," Vicky said emphatically.

"Vicky is right," Jacob said and hoped to have convinced his mother.

Thoughtfully, Catherine looked at her son from tired eyes. She raised her uninjured hand and gently stroked his cheek. "You saved my life yesterday." She stood on her toes and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

Jake remained motionless in the face of the tender gesture and knew no reply.

"You both saved me," Catherine turned to Vicky, "and Vincent. Thank you."

Vicky smiled encouragingly at the older woman. "You don't have to thank me. It..., it was an honor to be able to help."

Spontaneously the two women embraced each other.

"Lie down, Mom," Jacob warned once again.

Then Vicky and he disappeared and left behind a grateful, but also worried Catherine. Much had not yet been clarified.

_**New York; a house; Mona Thompson, Victoria Thompson, Jacob Chandler**_

Mona Thompson wasn't sleeping. She had only gone to bed out of habit. Vicky had not come home. She had not reported either. Restlessly, Mona Thompson turned to the other side. She didn't know what time it was, but suspected it was early in the morning. Actually she should have got used to it. There were times she had never heard from her daughter for weeks. Since Vicky started working for the FBI, the times of her absence lined up like pearls of different sizes on a string. Mona could only hope that everything went well this time as well. But something must have happened. Otherwise she would have heard from her daughter. She rolled around again when she heard the door downstairs.

Abruptly she straightened up and listened into the darkness. Shortly afterwards she heard footsteps on the stairs. She already swung her feet out of bed and sat up. Mona Thompson turned on the bedside lamp and stood up. She quickly threw on a dressing gown, and then stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway. She saw no one, but from the open crack of Vicky's room door light came out and she heard voices.

Mona Thompson walked energetically towards her daughter's room and opened the door. "Vicky?" she asked astonished.

Her daughter was standing in front of her closet, dressed only in jeans and bra and was about to take out a fresh T-shirt. That in itself was nothing surprising for Mona Thompson. But next to Vicky stood a man who didn't seem to care that her daughter was changing.

"Mom," Vicky shouted in surprise. "I'm sorry if we woke you up. I was just going to get dressed something else." She pulled the T-shirt over her head.

"Mrs. Thompson," the man greeted her.

On closer inspection, Mona recognized Vicky's FBI partner, the son of Catherine Chandler. He looked amply battered, as if he had been involved in a fight. Now Mona Thompson looked back at her daughter and at the pants and blazer she normally wore as an FBI agent and which were now lying in a messy pile on the bed.

"Mr. Chandler," Mona greeted the man in a dull voice. She saw the blood on Vicky's discarded clothes. "What happened?" She looked anxiously from one to the other. „Your mother?"

"My mother is fine," Jacob Chandler replied with a harsh voice.

"It's all right, Mom," said her daughter. "We're okay and so is Catherine."

"But..." Helplessly she saw from one to the other.

"Please Mom, we don't have much time." Vicky pocketed her gun resolutely.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Mona. Her tone changed and sounded safer. "Do you need any help?"

Vicky went up to her mother and took her briefly in her arms. "No. Just don't worry."

Mona Thompson pointed to the clothes. "But the blood?"

"I am fine and neither is Jake." Victoria kissed her mother briefly on the cheek.

"Mrs. Thompson." Jake reached out his hand to the older woman. She took it, although Jake didn't necessarily look trusting in his partially torn clothes. "It's really all right. The worst is behind us." He struggled for a faint smile.

Then the two disappeared again, so that Mona Thompson thought she had only imagined their presence.

_**New York; Office of Joe Maxwell; Jacob Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Joe Maxwell, Anna Stanton**_

One hour later Jacob Chandler had also changed and was on his way to Joe Maxwell together with Vicky. When they arrived early in the morning at the New York DA's office, they met only Anna Stanton, Joe Maxwell's assistant.

"Mr. Maxwell is not in the house. I don't know when he's coming either," she informed the two FBI agents.

"I need to speak to him urgently," Jake said. "It's about Catherine Chandler."

With that name, the assistant's eyes widened. She nodded slowly. "Well, I understand."

"Can I reach him somehow?" Jake asked.

She nodded. "Yes, but I don't know..." She hesitated for a moment, and then picked up the phone herself. It didn't take long. "Mr. Maxwell, here are the two people from the FBI. They say it's about Mrs. Chandler and they want to talk to you."

"What do you mean, your mother is fine?" Joe Maxwell asked in disbelief.

"As I said before. She's fine, and she's safe," Jake explained calmly.

"Where is she?" the New York DA asked sharply.

Jacob hesitated briefly. "I can't tell you that."

Joe Maxwell hit the desk hard with his flat hand. "Damn it. That doesn't work. You have to tell me where Catherine is and how you managed to free her without the police knowing."

Jake visibly squirmed. He hadn't thought that far yet. He didn't have a story to tell Joe Maxwell. It would have been better if he had let his mother give him something to confirm his words.

"Mr. Maxwell, I was with Mr. Chandler the whole time and can tell you that Mrs. Chandler is fine," Victoria Thompson interfered. She hoped that her words would suffice as confirmation.

"Mr. Maxwell," Jake started again. "Please believe me, my mother will get back to you as soon as..."

"As soon as what?" Joe Maxwell asked immediately.

"We wanted to make sure the men who..." Vicky tried to explain.

"The men who apparently kidnapped her are dead," said the New York DA. "But if you freed Catherine, you should know that, shouldn't you?"

Jake and Vicky were silent in the face of that statement. They knew their story was thin. Too thin. But they didn't want to dish up unnecessary lies that the older man in front of them would immediately see through anyway.

Joe Maxwell eyed the two FBI agents. „You're both in trouble."

"I know," Jake replied, "I guess my boss already suspended me."

"Your boss less," said Joe Maxwell. "He's in jail now." On Jake's surprised expression, he continued. "You were right. He was the spy, but that won't help either of you."

Joe Maxwell briefly described the events of the past day and the arrest of Gerry Fisher.

"And what happens now?" Vicky asked worriedly.

"We have searched all known Mafia homes and hiding places this morning and arrested over fifty people. Among them were a few of the guys who wanted to take revenge on Catherine for putting her behind bars thirty years ago," the New York District Attorney said.

"That means..." Jake tried to get to the point.

"That is," Joe Maxwell explained, "that Catherine is no longer in danger."

"Won't these people be free again in a short time by their lawyers?" Victoria Thompson remained skeptical.

"Not with what we have on them," Joe replied. "We found and destroyed several drug labs, and the assets of the leading heads were frozen. We have enough evidence of drug trafficking, extortion, money laundering and murder to put people behind bars for several decades."

"Are you sure," Jacob Chandler doubted. "I mean, are you sure you got them all? Usually, some of these guys disappear and hide out of the country."

"Mr. Chandler, we've arrested all the known heads of the crime syndicate. One advantage was that we acted so quickly after Catherine's kidnapping. Believe me, I will do everything I can to free this city from this mob." Joe Maxwell spoke with the same vehemence that Jake used to speak to, Vicky secretly noted. For a moment silence filled the room.

Joe had to clear his throat before continuing. "Of course, you know as well as I do that there is no one hundred percent guarantee. Others will come and try to fill the gaps that we have torn today."

"I know," Jake mumbled thoughtfully, "these organizations are like a five-headed Hydra. You can't kill them. If you cut off one head, two new ones grow back."

The New York DA nodded confirming. "That's why I'm already thinking about the future. Together with the mayor of New York, I'm working on building a team specifically dedicated to fighting organized crime to nip any new outgrowth in the bud immediately."

"This is an ambitious project," said Vicky. "Considering you're not the youngest anymore."

Joe Maxwell ignored the not very flattering objection and instead continued to look at Jacob Chandler insistently.

"What are you getting at?" he asked.

The DA switched his gaze back and forth between the two FBI agents. "Perhaps there is interest."

"You mean you want to offer us a job?" Vicky asked back.

"Well, your future at the FBI seems questionable to me in light of your solo efforts over the last few days. You will certainly have a lot to explain." Joe Maxwell said it bluntly.

"You said Gerry Fisher had been arrested. At least I had the right instinct there," Jake said.

"Do you think this will help you?" asked Joe Maxwell.

Jake just shrugged his shoulders lapidary. "Maybe. So you think my mother is safe from now on?"

"Like I said, there's no such thing as one hundred percent safety," Joe Maxwell replied. "But I claim to be able to say that she is as safe as you can be safe in New York," he said confidently.

Jacob nodded thoughtfully. "I understand."

"Then Cathy can...", Victoria Thompson began, but was interrupted by her partner.

"Then my mother can lead a normal life."

_**New York; a house; Mona Thompson, Victoria Thompson, Jacob Chandler**_

Mona Thompson had been unable to sleep after Victoria and her partner had left the house. She had had to force herself to make some breakfast for herself, but she had hardly touched any of it. Countless thoughts shot through her head, and she listened into the silence of the house. What had Jacob Chandler meant when he said that the worst was behind them? Before her inner eye, all the horror scenarios of a mother who was afraid for her daughter spread out. She should have been accustomed to it long since Vicky had registered with the FBI for training. Sometimes for weeks she wouldn't hear a word from her when she was investigating something important or be in places she wanted to keep secret. Mona thought she had come to terms with the fact that her daughter was often in danger. But now she continued to worry because Vicky had left the hospital prematurely after being injured in her role as a bodyguard. According to the doctors, she wasn't supposed to be back on duty yet. Mona breathed deeply. She had been happy when Vicky had come to her home in New York for this mission and lived with her during this time. It was good to look forward to someone who would come home in the evening and have breakfast with you in the morning.

Mona had quickly felt that this was no ordinary mission for her daughter. First the incident with the little boy who had been kidnapped by a child trafficking gang and who Mona had taken care of for some time at Vicky's request. And then there was something Vicky didn't tell her. Mona couldn't say if it directly concerned Catherine Chandler, the brave woman who was protecting Vicky. Or was it her son with whom her daughter had to work? Something kept Vicky busy that she didn't want to talk to her mother about. The doorbell ripped Mona Thompson from her thoughts.

She startled when immediately afterwards there was a strong hammering on the door and a loud voice called through the door. "Open the door immediately. FBI!"

Trembling, Mona Thompson stood up and expected the worst as she opened the door with her trembling hands.

"Mom!" Vicky looked around her mother's apartment. She walked down the hall and into the kitchen. The newspaper lay open on the table, the remains of breakfast next to it.

Vicky stopped. "Mom" she shouted again. This time her voice sounded insecure and anxious. "Mom?"

She didn't look around but hurried up the stairs to the bedroom instead. She looked into all the rooms. Only when she stepped back into the hallway upstairs did she look at Jacob Chandler's questioning face helpless.

"She's not here." She heard in her own voice how she felt. "Something is wrong. I have a shitty feeling.

Jake nodded grimly. "Me too, if you ask me."

Victoria hurried past him and down the stairs again. Jake followed her wordlessly. Vicky stopped at the dressing room.

When Jake arrived downstairs, she held a handbag in front of his face. "Her bag is still there. No jacket is missing either. As if she had vanished into thin air."

Jake shook his head. "No. Not dissolved in air. Come," he said for sure. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her to the front door with him.

"But...", Vicky stammered confused, "where are you going?"

"I'll free your mother," Jake replied.

"You mean she was kidnapped?" Vicky looked at her partner in horror.

"So kind of," Jake said and stopped for a moment.

"But who? The Mafia" asked Vicky.

"No. I'm afraid it's time we showed up at our people's." With that, Jake started to move again.

Vicky hurriedly followed him to the car and got in on the passenger side. "You mean the FBI has her? But that doesn't make any sense."

Jake gave her a long look. "Maybe not for us, but maybe for someone who was in cahoots with Gerry Fisher. Besides, I'm afraid we're actually out of our jobs at the FBI."

"You mean there was someone at the FBI besides Gerry Fisher who worked with the Mafia?" Vicky asked.

Jake started the car. "Or at least knew about it and covered for it."

"Then we have to find that one and arrest him," Vicky said.

"First we have to get your mother out of there. Either way. At the FBI, they don't like befouler of his own nest," Jake said and drove off.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Alexander, Catherine**_

Vincent slept deeply and soundly that night. He woke up late in the morning in his room, surrounded by the familiar sounds and the yellow light of the candles. Immediately the memory of the past day and of Catherine set in. He looked around searchingly. He wanted to stand up as usual, but pain in his leg reminded him that he was not as mobile as usual. Vincent laboriously supported himself with both arms and slowly pushed his upper body into an upright position. It wasn't easy, but he made it into a sitting position. Again he looked around searchingly. Then he carefully palpated his splinted leg. The splint was stable. He could not move his leg and felt the pain only with abrupt movements. So he threw the blanket to the side and swung around so that he now sat on the edge of his bed.

At that moment he heard footsteps approaching the entrance of his chamber. Curiously he waited and looked at the entrance hoping it was Catherine. But he was disappointed.

"I could have imagined that," Alexander said when he found Vincent sitting on his bed. "You should keep your leg as still as possible." In his hand he held his doctor's bag and went to his patient.

Vincent did not respond to the accusation. "Where are Catherine and Jacob?" he asked instead.

Alexander opened his doctor's bag and rummaged around in it. "Your son went back above early in the morning with that other woman. Catherine recently came out of your chamber to freshen up and eat after guarding at your bed all night. She was not persuaded to sleep in one of the guest beds. I am now, so to speak, the changing of the guard." Alexander told it casually. He embraced Vincent's head and held an index finger in front of his eyes. "Look at my finger. I want to see if you don't have a concussion."

Impatiently Vincent endured the procedure over him. When Alexander let him go satisfied, he asked him urgently: "Then Catherine is asleep now? Did Jacob say when he'd be back?"

Alexander just shook his head in passing. He was still busy with his medical diagnosis. "It's amazing," he said. "No concussion. Except for your leg and some bruises, you seem to have survived the collision with the car quite well. But you should definitely stay still for the time being, even if the splint keeps your leg stable so that the bone can grow together again."

Vincent looked at him only reluctantly. At that moment Catherine entered the chamber.

She smiled when she saw that Vincent was awake. "You look much better now." She stepped to the couch and tenderly took his hand.

"There's nothing wrong with him," Alexander said reassuringly towards Catherine. He took his bag and left them alone.

"You look tired," Vincent said quietly.

Catherine shook her head defensively. "It's all right. As long as you're all right."

"Yes, as soon as I get out of this bed and can move again." Vincent's voice was the impatience to listen.

"You need time," Catherine said reassuringly and smiled at him. "In a few days you can already walk with crutches."

"Where did Jacob go?" Vincent asked.

"He went above with Vicky," Catherine replied.

Vincent frowned anxiously.

"He goes to Joe," Catherine calmed him down. "Together they'll find a solution." She stopped in her words and bit her lips.

"A solution what to do with you now" Vincent asked and had no idea what inner conflict was raging in Catherine.

Automatically she nodded and struggled inside with herself. She had promised Jacob not to reveal his secret. But Vincent was his father. He should know what was going on with his son. Only briefly did Catherine see the pictures in front of her inner eye. How her son slit a man's throat with extended claws. Yes, he was his father's son, and yet she felt bound by her promise to her son. Again she bit her lips. Vincent and she had never kept secrets from each other until she was hiding in the witness protection program. Everything in her was reluctant to withhold anything so important about their son from him now that they had found each other again.

"I should go above and clear the matter up," she said instead.

Vincent already wanted to contradict, but she stopped him with a gesture. "Of course, only when Jacob is back and has let us know. Nevertheless, I would like to speak to Joe Maxwell again before..."

"...before you come below forever," Vincent finished the sentence.

She nodded silently.

"Are you sure?" Vincent asked seriously. "I mean, you don't have to if..."

Catherine interrupted him by putting her finger on his mouth. She smiled slightly. "I'm sure. Nevertheless, I owe Joe an explanation. One with which Jacob can also continue to lead a normal life above."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully. "Fortunately Jacob found you in time yesterday." He sighed with relief. "I don't know what I would have done if..."

"Don't think any more about it," Catherine told him. "He has freed me that is the most important thing."

Vincent held Catherine's bandaged wrist with his hand. "You're hurt."

"That's not bad. Only sprained," Catherine muttered softly.

She saw Vincent want to start asking more questions. She knew what questions he had. How they had overwhelmed the men who had kidnapped her. Who had it been? For Jacob's sake, she didn't want to have to answer such questions.

So she interrupt quickly. "Jacob went up with Vicky this morning. He'll talk to Joe and then let me know if I can come up."

Vincent nodded slowly. "This woman who helped us. Victoria..."

"Victoria Thompson. Vicky," said Catherine relieved that Vincent did not notice her change of subject.

"She seems like a good woman," Vincent said in his old-fashioned style.

Catherine nodded confirming. "Yes, she is. We can trust her."

Calmly, Vincent nodded. "Then the secret is around the tunnels..."

"Vicky must have a lot of questions, but I can assure you she'll keep the secret." Confidently, Catherine squeezed Vincent's hand.

She straightened up again and moved her shoulders slightly. Slowly the lack of sleep became noticeable.

"You should eat something," she said, pointing to the tray next to the bed.

"Only if you promise to lie down and sleep," Vincent demanded.

Tired, Catherine smiled at him. "All right. You're right. I feel really tired." She leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss on his mouth.

Vincent saw after her for a long time after she had disappeared from the chamber.

_**New York; FBI Office; Jacob Chandler, Victoria Thompson, Mona Thompson, Ronald Solomon, Dennis McGuire**_

The FBI's offices in New York were centrally located in Manhattan.

"Are you sure she's here?" Vicky asked for maybe the hundredth time.

"You know how our people react," Jake replied, "and we don't know what other information Gerry Fisher has circulated, true or false."

The two FBI agents rushed through the entrance and into the upper offices. They both stopped abruptly when they saw Mona Thompson sitting in front of one of the desks. In her hand she held a cup of coffee while smiling nicely chatting with two men sitting opposite her. All three looked up almost at the same time.

Hastily Mona Thompson put her cup on the desk and jumped up. "Is everything okay with you? Vicky, are you all right?" She looked at her daughter questioningly.

"Mom?" Vicky looked at her mother asking questions. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh!" Mona Thompson looked briefly over her shoulder at the two men dressed in black suits. "Your two colleagues picked me up this morning because they were looking for you."

Vicky and Jake looked suspiciously at the two men. One of them went around the desk.

"May I introduce myself? My name is Ronald Solomon. I come from Washington. After the arrest of Gerry Fisher, I took charge of the investigation." The dark-skinned man stretched out his hand to greet Jacob.

"Jacob Chandler," Jake replied involuntarily. "We don't know each other."

"No," replied the black man. "I used to work in the field and only recently changed to the office."

"And what did you want from my mother," Vicky asked.

Ronald Solomon turned to the brunette FBI agent. "We just wanted to find out where you were because there had been no sign of you since Catherine Chandler was kidnapped. We were hoping that your mother might know something."

"I volunteered to go with the two of them," Mona Thompson now objected reassuringly. "I had the hope that I would find out what had happened," she said to Vicky. "You disappeared so quickly this morning without saying where."

"We're fine," Vicky just said.

"Yes," Ronald Solomon replied, "we've known that ever since we called the DA's office and learned that you had contacted them. But tell me one thing, where is Mrs. Chandler?"

"How about a cup of coffee," the second said. "Then we can discuss everything in peace. My name is Dennis McGuire, by the way." He set off to organize the coffee from the kitchen.

A little later four of them sat together in a small meeting room. Vicky's mother waited outside at the desk where she had been sitting earlier, for her daughter, with whom she wanted to drive home afterwards.

"So you're saying Mrs. Chandler is safe, but you don't want to tell us where she is."

Jake nodded confirming to Ronald Solomon's summary.

"I know you're suspicious. This is understandable after the arrest of Gerry Fisher and his confession, but I can assure you that I will clear everything up relentlessly. If anyone from the FBI other than Fisher was involved, we will find out. I'm just asking for your trust and cooperation now," Ronald Solomon said seriously.

His urgent speech had an effect on Jacob. He looked at Vicky questioningly, who shrugged her shoulders helplessly in response.

He considered before answering. "I believe you." A faint smile accompanied his words. "I'm sure the entire FBI hasn't been infiltrated."

"That's a start," said Dennis McGuire.

Then Jake began to describe his view of the kidnapping of his mother. Vicky occasionally confirmed his statements and added some explanatory details. Only in the details at the end could she add nothing more. She didn't know what had happened in the basement of the mall and how Catherine's kidnappers had died. Jake also omitted this detail. He just described that he had found his mother injured and taken her to safety.

"You still won't tell us where she is," Ronald Solomon noted. "As for the injuries of the kidnappers who were killed..."

"I don't know anything about that," Jacob replied evasively. "I only brought my mother to safety as quickly as possible."

"You didn't see anything and nobody? Neither man nor animal" asked Dennis McGuire.

"Animal" Victoria Thompson asked back irritated.

"Yes, the men died as a result of the high loss of blood, starting from serious external injuries, as if they had been attacked by a predator," the new Operations Director described in detail.

Vicky made a face in shock. "But how is that possible?"

Her honest amazement distracted the two FBI men so they didn't notice Jake holding his breath barely audibly.

"We're facing a mystery and are still at the beginning of our investigation," said Ronald Solomon.

"Is that all?" asked Jake, who wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"For the time being yes. It would certainly be helpful if Mrs. Chandler could make a statement," said Dennis McGuire.

"That should be possible," Jake replied casually. He had already got up and turned to the door.

"Agent Thompson, please stay," Ronald Solomon stopped them. "We have something to discuss with you."

Vicky and Jacob looked at each other questioningly.

"What is?" Jake asked irritated. "Are you trying to pull some crooked thing off with us?"

Ronald Solomon ignored Jake's objection. He waved towards the door, as if to evict Jake out like an annoying fly.

"Why only with me" asked Victoria Thompson. "What you want to tell me, my partner can hear." She made it clear that Jake and she were holding together.

Ronald Solomon sighed angrily. "Well, fine. I'd like to ask you to give me your badge and your gun. You're suspended."

Vicky seemed shocked at first, but it hadn't been expected otherwise.

"What?" said Jake loudly. "How dare you. Mrs. Thompson protected Mrs. Chandler at the risk of her life, and now you want..."

"Agent Thompson acted arbitrarily without permission and despite a doctor's certificate of incapacity and thus negligently endangered Mrs. Chandler, you and herself," explained Dennis McGuire.

"You knew from the outset what the consequences would be," added Ronald Solomon.

"You're crazy," Jacob shouted out loud. "She did me a favor. She did it because I asked her to and because I couldn't be sure who could be trusted in this damn mess."

The other two FBI agents had stood up at Jake's words. "You're going too far, Chandler. Your activities in this regard are also under investigation, bearing in mind that you were acting to protect your mother's life. After all, you helped expose Gerry Fisher." Calm and cold, Ronald Solomon looked at him. It almost seemed as if he was a robot without any emotion.

Silence spread. Jake gritted his teeth.

"So Mrs. Thompson," Dennis McGuire asked the FBI agent.

Vicky slowly took her gun and badge out of the inside pocket.

"No," Jake tried to stop her. "Don't do that. They won't get away with it."

But she just shook her head silently and threw both on the table. "It was about time I went on vacation anyway. Come on," she said and pulled Jake out the door. She paused only briefly. "Please don't tell my mother. Otherwise she only worries," she asked him quietly.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent, Catherine**_

"In visions of the dark night  
I have dreamed of joy departed  
But a waking dream of life and light  
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! What is not a dream by day  
To him whose eyes are cast  
On things around him with a ray  
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream, that holy dream,  
While all the world were chiding,  
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam  
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,  
So trembled from afar  
What could there be more purely bright  
In Truth's day-star?"*****

Catherine stopped reading. Vincent had closed his eyes and she looked at the beloved face.

He opened his eyes. "Why did you stop? I didn't fall asleep."

Catherine smiled. "The lines reminded me of when I was young and had so many hopes."

Vincent was lying on the chaise. With a questioning look, he waited for Catherine, who was sitting next to him, to continue speaking.

"I mean that in a positive sense," she continued. "Because now I feel the same hope in me. And strangely enough I feel young. Just like back then".

Vincent grabbed her hand. "I think I know what you mean. We have a new beginning. Time doesn't matter or how many years have passed. The here and now counts, in which past and future flow together and unite into something lasting".

They remained silent for a while and enjoyed the presence of the other.

"Are you sure now?" Vincent asked suddenly and looked the beloved woman in the face.

She smiled tenderly and pressed his hand. "I was always sure that one day I wanted to live with you. Only the right time had to come."

"And it is here now" Vincent asked back.

Catherine stroked his hand soothingly. "It is now as safe as we both have a son." She hesitated briefly. "I have to go above one more time. I have to give Joe and Jenny an explanation. And I have to help Jacob make things right with the FBI." She was silent, because her thoughts digressed.

What was she going to tell Joe and the FBI? She couldn't possibly tell the truth that her son became a roaring creature that could kill anyone who wanted to hurt her.

"What is it? What are you thinking about?" Vincent asked.

She smiled fleetingly. "Oh, nothing. I just thought about how to best explain it to Joe."

The restlessness in her grew. Vincent knew nothing about Jacob's mutation. He didn't know anything about the fact that his son's hands could drive out sharp claws that tore everything to shreds and nothing about the immense, superhuman strength that a normal person couldn't resist. Catherine had seen it with her own eyes.

"You should rest," she told Vincent. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

"I haven't done anything else for days," grumbled Vincent.

"Alexander said that you could soon get up and try to walk on crutches," Catherine said encouragingly.

She was happy about the change of topic. She had to talk to Jacob about what he was and what happened to him. And she didn't like keeping secrets from his father at all.

_**New York; in the tunnels; several children: Leo, Hanna, Lily and Felix**_

"I told you there was nothing to see here," Leo said to the girl.

Hanna snorted disappointedly. „Such a crap."

"Maybe you just have to go to the other side," said Felix, another boy.

There were four of them, all about the same age, ten or eleven years old. Hanna, Lily, Felix and Leo. And they were in a place where they weren't supposed to be. The adults had forbidden it for a long time, but among the children in the tunnels it was a test of courage to venture as far as possible into the unknown darkness of the caves and chambers. But it was the fault of the adults themselves. Why did they also tell the stories of the maze and of earlier episodes, when Vincent and Father, the man who had built the community in the tunnels, had been spilled and had to be freed. Now the four children were standing in front of the brick wall, which nipped every progress in the bud.

"I said all the time that there was nothing to see," Leo repeated his words. "We should go back."

Hanna stamped her foot. "You said we were going into the maze," she said to Felix.

"There must be another way," Felix said. "Come on, we'll just go left and around."

"Isn't that too far?" Lily asked skeptically.

"Oh no" Felix said, took his lamp and walked off.

The others followed him into a branching cave.

"We're wasting our time," nagged Leo, who was the last to leave. "It's all bricked up, isn't it?"

But the others ignored his words and went further into the darkness.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jacob Chandler, Catherine, Vincent**_

"Are you ready?" Jacob asked his mother.

"Yes." She nodded to him. She turned briefly to Vincent, who was already standing upright on crutches. She kissed him briefly on the cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she promised him.

Then she followed her son, who went up through the tunnels with her. She had dressed neatly in dark pants, a blouse and a blazer over it. Jacob had told her that the FBI wanted to talk to her. Surely they wanted some answers from her. But first, she had to talk to her son openly.

When they were far enough away from Vincent's chamber, she touched him briefly on the arm. "What did you tell people about my liberation?"

Frowning, Jacob turned to her. He hesitated. "That which I could."

"And the two dead in the basement of the shopping center?" Catherine asked promptly.

"They are puzzled by the strange injuries, and I have no intention of solving it for them," he said sarcastically.

Catherine did not go any further on this remark. "How long have you had this kind of... change?"

Jacob grimaced reluctantly. It was obvious that he did not want to have this conversation, but his mother knew it now. She had seen what happened to him. She had seen how...

She waited patiently, and he knew she would not be satisfied with excuses.

"It began when I entered puberty," he said quietly. "It wasn't just the usual changes that the other children had. Suddenly I felt different. I don't know how to describe it." Embarrassed, he looked down and obviously looked for the right words. "I sometimes had the feeling that something strange was taking possession of me, something non-human, if you understand what I mean." Looking for help, he looked at his mother.

And how could she not understand it? She was the one who was closest to his father. She had seen Vincent and what he was capable of, and she had accepted and loved him anyway. Catherine only nodded briefly and waited further.

"One day," Jacob continued, "I was angry about a nothingness. Pa had forbidden me to go upstairs with Danny. We wanted to see a concert in Central Park. I mean, really watching, not just listening from below the tunnels. I was angry and kicked a chair and suddenly..."

"Yes?" Catherine asked curiously.

Jacob hesitated. "I felt something coming out of my fingers and when I looked, I saw... real sharp claws. Luckily Pa didn't see it. Nobody saw it. From that day on I knew that I was more like him than it seemed." Jake took a deep breath.

"And you never told your father," Catherine concluded.

Jacob shook his head. "I didn't want..., he shouldn't have a guilty conscience about me. He always seemed to be so relieved that I obviously came after you and was a completely..., a completely normal person."

Catherine closed her eyes for a moment.

"Pa has been blaming himself all the time anyway that he couldn't offer me the childhood that other children have above and..." he continued.

"...and you wanted to protect him from the truth," Catherine closed quietly.

"Please, you must not tell him", Jake urged his mother. "It happens very rarely and I have learned how to deal with it. Only lately it's strangely different."

Catherine nodded. "Ever since I showed up, wasn't it. But years ago you went at a distance to your father and to Washington to the FBI so that he wouldn't accidentally find out what was wrong with you."

Jacob felt caught and looked at the floor. His mother had a very direct way of getting things to the point.

"Jacob, he needs to know."

"No." Jacob looked into her face in panic.

"He is your father, and believe me, he will love you no less. And maybe he can help you, if that happens again..." Catherine was looking for words.

Jacob snorted loudly. "I don't want it. Do you understand? I ask you for it as your son."

"I never lied to Vincent until the moment I went into hiding in the Witness Protection Program," Catherine objected. "I don't want to start that again."

"Please, Mom." Jacob looked at her desperately. "I would never have told you anything, and if this thing hadn't been, then..."

"The dead man in my apartment," Catherine suddenly said. "Was that you too?"

He nodded unhappily. "That was a professional killer. He wanted to kill me."

"Oh Jacob," she said with compassion.

Spontaneously she took him in her arms. Jacob hesitated at first, and then he put his arms around her and his head on her shoulder. He sought comfort and found him with her, whom he had not known for so long and yet somehow missed. After a seemingly endless moment he lifted his head again and looked at her.

"Please don't tell him anything," he asked again. "I don't want him to see me like this."

Catherine thought of the many times Vincent had saved her. Vincent, too, had never wanted her to see him lose control and his gentle nature become an unpredictable killer. She nodded briefly to her son.

"It's good." She breathed deeply. "We should go on."

She gently grabbed him by the arm and together they walked silently through the tunnels and above.

_**New York; Office of the New York DA; Joe Maxwell, Catherine and Jacob Chandler**_

"Catherine." Joe Maxwell beamed all over his face when he saw her. "I'm so glad to see you."

He had jumped up from his desk and walked up to her when she had entered his office. She had renounced from letting his assistant announce herself, who, astonished and amazed, let her go. He took her in his arms and held her tightly for a moment. Carefully Catherine detached herself from him.

The New York district attorney looked her in the face attentively. Then he noticed her wrist. "You're hurt."

Catherine shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with that. Only sprained." Uncertain, she looked over her shoulder to Jacob, who had entered the office behind her unnoticed and closed the door. "We're here to clear a few things up."

Immediately Joe Maxwell's face became serious. "You mean because of your kidnapping. Come on, why you don't sit down." Carefully he led her to the chair in front of his desk. "Your son...", Joe cleared his throat, "...told us that everything was okay with you. Understandably, we still wanted to have a sign of life."

"Understandably," Catherine confirmed to him. "Well, here I am. What do you want to know from me?"

Joe felt confused by Catherine's direct nature. "Yeah, well... you cannot just tell me what happened. From your point of view."

And so she told what she could. The kidnapping by Samuel Henderson, whose father had put she behind bars over thirty years ago. Passing her on to Cedric Hanlon, a head of organized crime, Jakes and Vicky's almost successful liberation in the underground garage and her escape to a shopping mall where Jake had liberated her and taken her to a safe place.

"The men are dead," Joe insisted. He turned to Jake. "If you didn't shoot them, which is not the case according to the injuries, you must have seen someone who..."

"Joe," Catherine interrupted him. "Jake threatened the guys and took me away fast. That's all we can tell you."

"But something must have happened after that. It must have happened through the same guy as in the underground garage where we found Samuel Henderson and his helper," Joe said.

Catherine and Jacob Chandler were silent on this statement.

"Jacob told me that you had carried out a raid." Catherine tried to direct Joe's mind to other things.

In fact, he went into it. "Yes, we were very successful. Meanwhile, Cedric Hanlon's confidante unpacked and confessed that he had hired someone to kill you. Even though we can't prove that everyone is involved, we have enough to lock them up for other crimes."

"Thank you Joe," Catherine just said and stood up.

The New York DA looked at her expectantly. "What are you going to do now? I mean, you can live a normal life now."

Catherine gave him a smile that already carried the goodbye within itself. Joe's cheering look immediately became serious.

He stood in front of her and looked her in the face with sorrow. "You... you won't stay."

Catherine's smile became wider for confirmation. "I have to go, Joe."

"But where are you going?" he asked and suspected at the same time that he would not get a satisfying answer.

"I'm going where I've always been happy," Catherine replied vaguely.

"If there's anything else about my mother, you know where to reach me," Jake interfered with the conversation.

Joe Maxwell breathed deeply several times as Catherine reached out to him to say goodbye. "You won't come back," he said. "Will we see each other again?"

Catherine smiled sadly. "Maybe someday." She kissed him briefly on the cheek. "Thanks for everything, Joe." So she turned away.

Jacob nodded briefly to the New York district attorney. He frowned and stopped the FBI agent. "Have you thought about my offer yet?"

Jacob shrugged vaguely. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

"Think it over," Joe Maxwell encouraged him, because he had the tiny hope of not losing contact with Catherine completely this way.

"I will," Jake replied and left the office.

On the way down, Catherine looked curiously at her son. "What were you talking about?"

"Nothing in particular," Jacob tried to block.

"I have good ears," said Catherine. "What offer was Joe talking about?"

_**New York; in the tunnels; several children: Leo, Hanna, Lily and Felix **_

They got lost. For Leo, there was no doubt anymore.

"We should turn back," he said loudly, expressing his concerns. But the other three in front of him just went on.

Demonstratively Leo stopped. "Hello, did you hear me? The oil in the lamps won't last long."

"Are you afraid?" Felix asked provokingly. "We should have reached the other side of the maze right away. Come," he said to the two girls.

Hanna nodded willingly, but Lily hesitated. "Maybe Leo is right," she said.

"I think we got lost," said the ten-year-old again forcefully. "Or do you remember exactly how often we have changed direction in the meantime?"

"It doesn't matter," Felix claimed, "as long as you always took the same direction. And we walked around to the left at all intersections. So all we have to do on the way back is turn right."

Hanna nodded confirming, because this logic made sense to her.

But now Lily reported her doubts. "But we didn't turn off at every junction, some we left out because they seemed so scary."

"We should turn back," Leo repeated again. "Now maybe we'll find our way back without any of the adults noticing."

Felix snorted indignantly. "So I go on. At least around the next corner. We'll be right there for sure."

The children stood opposite each other.

"Come", Hanna said to Felix and simply went on with her lamp in her hand. Felix followed her with a contemptuous look in the direction of Leo. Lily and Leo stayed behind and saw Hanna and Felix disappear into the darkness around the next bend. They looked at each other helplessly.

"What should we do" asked Lily.

The boy looked at her uncertainly. "We should try to go back and hope to find the way."

"If we get lost, the adults will look for us, won't they?" Lily asked anxiously.

"They don't even know where we went," Leo objectively contradicted. "Where should they start looking for us? Better we find the way back."

For a while they both remained silent and walked back the way they had come.

Suddenly they heard a scream behind them that sounded gruesome in the darkness illuminated only by a weak oil lamp.

Then silence set in. The two children had stopped as frozen. They held their breath in fright and did not dare to go any further.

After a seemingly endless time it sounded from far away. "Help! Help!"

_**New York; in the tunnels; Olivia, children **_

Olivia smiled as she was on her way to the children. She had just been with her husband Kannon, who helped two levels down to build a new chamber. She had brought lunch to him and the other men who worked there and talked to Kannon for a while.

In the morning, news had come from above. Her daughter Deborah was expecting her second child. They became grandparents for the second time. Olivia was very happy, even though she rarely saw her daughter and her family.

Olivia and Kannon rarely went upstairs. After Kannon served his jail sentence many years ago, there was nothing to keep them in the world above. But when their children Luke and Deborah grew up, that changed. Luke went above for a while, but eventually returned to the tunnels. Deborah met her future husband in the world above and stayed there. So her little family was torn apart, but they kept in touch and visited each other whenever possible.

Intuitively Olivia accelerated her pace. This afternoon was her time with the children who lived down here in the tunnels. Children who were born here, but also others, orphans from above, who had been sent to them by the need. She entered the candlelight-lit chamber vigorously.

"There you are at last," one of the children shouted impetuously.

Olivia's smile widened. "I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm from far down where a new chamber is being built."

"I'll do that later, too," said a boy with brown curls.

"What do you want to do, Ben? Olivia asked him.

"Cut rooms out of the stone," Ben replied.

"But you know that's not an easy job. It takes strength and skill and patience," Olivia said. "And it takes time to get to the point of being able to do that."

"So what," Ben said immediately, "I'll learn that already."

"Show-off," said another boy who didn't like Ben.

Ben turned red on his face and called back. "You'll see."

"I won't," the other boy replied calmly, "because I'm going to study up in college while you try to hammer holes in the stone."

"Stop it," Olivia shouted, "there's no need to argue. Each of you has the opportunity to do what you want to do later. Every work is valuable, no matter where and in which place, just as every single person is valuable." During her words, she took a close look at the crowd of children. She frowned in confusion.

Something was wrong. Searching, she let her gaze wander once more. Almost always the children sat down in the same place.

"Where's Leo and Hanna and..." She stopped for a moment.

"Felix and Lily aren't there either," said the boy who had contradicted Ben before.

"Do you know where they went, Matt?" Olivia asked.

He shook his head.

"Does anyone know what's wrong with the four of them?" Olivia asked all the kids now.

"They haven't been to lunch," one of the children replied.

"They have always stood together and whispered the last few days," said someone else.

"But you don't know what about?" Olivia asked again.

Several children shook their heads. The restlessness in Olivia grew. It was unusual that no one knew what was going on with the four children. Normally, the adults taught all the children early to let them know when they were going somewhere through the tunnels. Of course, they might have just gone to the play pond or the waterfalls and skipped lessons. Olivia remembered well when she was that age. She, too, had succumbed once or twice to the temptation to swim in the play pond rather than to come to class on time. And, of course, they had been given a punishment for this. Should the four of them not have come to class for exactly this reason, special service in the kitchen blossomed for them.

"Strange," Olivia said out loud.

Leo in particular was actually very reliable, she thought to herself. Then she decided to do the lessons with the children. Maybe the four of them showed up to the end.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Olivia, Jamie, Kannon**_

"Jamie, have you seen any of the kids?" Hours later Olivia was standing in the friend's chamber.

She shook her head. "They were all with you for lessons."

"No, not all of them. Leo, Hanna, Lily and Felix are missing. I already asked Luke and Marc. Then I was down at Kannon, and we went together to the waterfalls and to the play pond. They're not there either." Olivia had been seized by a frightening restlessness. She felt something was wrong.

"That is indeed strange. Don't the other children know where the four went?" Jamie asked. Olivia shook her head.

"Mouse is at the hydroelectric plant. Let's go to him," Jamie suggested.

The women went down together. But Mouse didn't know anything and hadn't seen any of the children. There Kannon joined them.

"Maybe Vincent knows where they might have gone. Yesterday the children had been with him in the afternoon and heard stories from him about the past," Jamie said.

"We shouldn't worry Vincent unnecessarily," Kannon said. "He has to get well first. And when he hears that children are missing, nobody stops him from walking through the tunnels with his crutches and looking everywhere."

"Still, we have to do something," Olivia said desperately. "Otherwise something could have happened. They could have gotten lost or crashed and been injured somewhere."

Mouse nodded resolutely. "I send a message about the pipes to Pascal. He should make an emergency call, and the council should come together in an hour. Then we decide what to do next."

"But then Vincent finds out," Kannon said.

"If the kids don't show up and we have to start a search, he'll find out anyway," Jamie said.

Together they hurried off to inform the other tunnel inhabitants.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Leo and Lily**_

"Here's where we parted," Leo said to Lily.

"I don't know. How do you know that so well?" asked the girl.

"You can see it on the ground. Look." He pointed to the tunnel floor. "Here you can see our footprints when we were standing here earlier."

The girl looked at him uncertainly. "I don't know. Earlier you didn't want to go any further, and now you really want to go further to find Felix and Hanna."

"The scream and the cries for help were from Hanna," Leo replied. "Something must have happened. Maybe they need our help."

"We should have gone back and told the adults everything," Lily said.

"This takes too long when Felix and Hanna need help. Come on." So Leo just went on, braver than he actually felt.

Lily followed him wordlessly, although she was afraid. Fearfully she shoved her hand into his free one. His other hand held the lamp. The path in front of them seemed to get darker and darker. And it was quiet. The cries for help had sounded only a few times and then suddenly stopped. It was so dark and so quiet that both children felt as if they were sinking into a deep, dark nothingness.

"I am afraid," Lily complained. "Please let us go back."

Leo stopped briefly. "It can't be far," he tried to cheer her up. "They couldn't have come much further. Come." He took her hand again.

She nodded, but then the light from Leo's lamp flickered restlessly several times until it suddenly went out completely. The silence was only interrupted by Lily's fearful sobbing.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Pascal, Mouse, Olivia, Vincent, Jamie, Alexander, Kannon**_

"We should put together a search party," said Pascal to the group that had gathered.

"But where do you want to start looking?" asked Mouse. "Too many corridors and chambers. Up, down?" He made a far reaching gesture with his arms to show everyone the whole range of possibilities in the tunnels.

"Nevertheless, we can't just stand around and do nothing," Olivia replied angrily.

Many of the tunnel dwellers nodded. Vincent was standing on crutches in the middle of the old room full of books, which Father had used and that had always served as a meeting place.

He turned to the children sitting or standing on top of the gallery and stairs. "Have you no idea where the others might have gone? Didn't they tell you anything?" He looked from one child to another with great intensity. "Try to remember."

One of the girls bit her lips involuntarily, as if to say something, but she remained silent. Everyone else shook their heads.

"Pascal is right. We shouldn't wait any longer and form a few search parties," Kannon said.

"We'll put together some food to take with you," Olivia said, waving some of the women with her.

Vincent pointed to one of the cupboards standing on a wall. "Mouse, there are the plans of the outer areas of the tunnels. We should proceed systematically and work our way from one section to the next in a ring."

Mouse immediately turned to the cupboard, opened it and saw the inscribed rolls with the plans of the underground tunnels.

"We?" asked Pascal in the meantime. "Certainly not you, Vincent."

"Pascal, I know all the known tunnels and levels. I've gone further in my life beyond the boundaries of our inhabited world than all of you together."

"Not with your leg," Mouse contradicted as he spread out a few plans on the big table in the middle of the room.

Vincent wanted to return something, but Pascal stopped him. "You'd only stop the search troops. Besides, we are enough people. I'll stay in the pipe chamber to pass on news. And you're best off here to be there if the kids show up after all."

"Pascal is right," Kannon said to Vincent, too, and patted him on the shoulders reassuringly.

Vincent struggled with himself because he didn't like being idle. But on the other hand he knew that he was no help with his crutches.

"Besides, I don't want to have to explain to Catherine that you run through the tunnels with your leg on crutches," Mouse said.

"I agree with you," said Alexander, who had just arrived. "I've heard that some children are missing."

"Yes," Vincent replied and turned to the plans on the table. "We're in the process of determining the routes for the search troops."

Together they bent over the plans while the children watched and hoped that nothing had happened to their friends.

_**New York; in Jacobs' car; flashback to Jenny Aronson's apartment; at Mona Thompson's house; Catherine, Jacob, Jenny Aronson; Mona and Victoria Thompson**_

Catherine remained thoughtfully silent while Jacob and she went to the car. A lot was going around in her mind. Today was the day of farewells, it seemed to her. First from Joe, who now knew that she would disappear. He had made Jacob an offer to join a Special Forces unit in New York.

Stealthily Catherine looked at her son from the side. Jacob had only said that he wanted to think about it. It was tempting to think that her son was still nearby after she had literally disappeared from the face of the earth and lived with Vincent in the tunnels. But did Jacob want that? She didn't know what he thought about it. He had gone to the FBI in Washington so that his father would never find out that he was more like him than he had believed. Would he run away again now? Away from the people who loved him?

Her thoughts continued to wander to Jenny, from whom they just came. Jenny also knew. Not about where Catherine would disappear to. But they had said goodbye to each other. Just like so many years ago, when Catherine had gone into hiding in the witness protection program. Jenny hadn't been surprised. She was just surprised that Catherine didn't seem unhappy. After the relief that Catherine was alive and well, she had, of course, asked questions about the liberation. And tears had flowed.

"I am here to say goodbye," Catherine had said.

"You're leaving?" Half question, half sob from Jenny.

"Yes Jenny," Catherine replied.

"But... where to? With whom?" Jenny's confusion had been seen.

Catherine just shook her head defensively. "Don't ask. I'm fine."

Jenny hat herself quickly under control. "I knew it, you know. I felt from the beginning that it was short lived since you had come to New York and everything had come out to the public."

A wistful smile flew over Catherine's face. What could she say? How could she explain what she hadn't told her friend all these years? They had known each other since college. And yet Catherine had never been able to share the most important thing that had ever happened in her life with her friend. It would be a way to tell her about the people who meant more to her than anything else, about all the things she had wanted to tell her for so long. Thirty years ago it must have seemed irrational to any normal person. She had promised Vincent to keep his secret. She had kept that promise to all the people in the world above who were important to her, even if it meant appearing strange and closed. Even if it meant withdrawing from public life. By now so much had happened in her life, and Jenny was involved in other secrets, so it might even be possible to reveal herself now. This was her last chance, but she remained silent. Also this time she remained silent and said nothing. Jenny had guessed that there was someone in her life. But now it was too late. Nevertheless it was difficult for Catherine to say goodbye to her friend.

"Will your son take care of you?" Jenny asked.

"In a way," Catherine replied evasively.

Jacob had left her and Jenny alone so they could say goodbye.

"You never said anything about him or... about his father." Jenny looked at her curiously.

"There was... there was no way," said Catherine.

Again Jenny looked at her. How many secrets did a friendship endure.

"I knew that you survived and joined the Witness Protection Program, but you never told me anything about a man and a child." Jenny paused briefly in her words. Then she laughed a little artificially. "I mean, among girlfriends it should normally be the other way around, or."

"Jenny, I'm sorry." Catherine felt her friend withdraw from her inwardly. A painful stab went through her chest. But it was nothing new. In all the years she had lived under false names, she had been alone. She had never really been able to confide in anyone. Secrets here and secrets there. There had never been anyone who had really known about everything in her life. No, that was not quite true. Peter had known that she was alive and he had known about the tunnels. He had kept her secret, even if he didn't understand it.

Jenny gave herself a jolt. "I guess you had your reasons." She smiled again.

Catherine nodded gratefully and swallowed. "What are you doing now after the death of your husband? I mean, your financial problems..."

"Oh, I think I can handle this. It was hard to understand why Linus hadn't told me the truth," Jenny explained. "I mean, I think he just wanted to protect me. Men are like that, aren't they?

Catherine smiled slightly. "Yes, I know. Men are like that."

"I think it'll take some time before I've really handled this. But Joe helps me and supports me wherever he can."

"Joe?" asked Catherine curiously.

"Well, yes." Jenny hesitated briefly. "Yes, he helps me. He really is a treasure, you know. And my lawyer sees a good chance that my company doesn't have to be liable for the share losses."

"That's good," said Catherine and looked around to see if Jacob was back again.

"Will we never see each other again?" Jenny herself seemed a little disturbed by this pronounced statement. "I mean, that's a stupid question, right? When you were in the witness protection program, I also assumed never to see you again. And yet we have seen and spoken, one time or another, even though I have never quite understood why you were there at those times all at once."

Catherine had to smile at Jenny's flow of words. "Jenny, I... I don't know if we'll see each other again. So much has happened in my life." She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I will be with Jacob's father." She looked over her shoulder again to see if her son was nearby. "Yes, of course I hope that I can see my son as often as possible. So you really don't have to worry about me."

In Jenny Aronson's face were a thousand unspoken questions. It was obvious to her that she would have liked to know more, but Catherine remained silent. And Jenny understood her silence. The two women hugged each other for a long time and said goodbye to each other.

Catherine came from her thoughts back to reality. She sat next to Jacob in the car and wondered. "Where are we going?"

He briefly looked over at her and then looked back at the road in front of him. "I wanted to drive past Vicky and her mother. I thought you might want to say goodbye to them."

Catherine kept silent in surprise. Of course, she could have thought of thanking the strong FBI agent herself and saying goodbye to her. But the truth was that she didn't feel like she had to say goodbye to Vicky. When she thought of Victoria Thompson, who had risked her life for her, she didn't feel like she wouldn't see her again. Strange. But she didn't tell Jacob anything about this feeling.

Instead, she just said, "Yes, that's nice. It's sweet of you to think about it."

"Catherine, you're fine," Mona Thompson greeted her with outstretched arms.

"Yes, everything's fine," Catherine replied.

The two women hugged each other while Vicky and Jake exchanged a quick glance. For a while Catherine was busy assuring Mona that everything was fine with her. Mona made coffee for everyone and listened.

"Have you heard anything from the FBI about your suspension?" Jake quietly asked Vicky in the meantime.

She shook her head slightly. "No."

He cursed quietly.

"What were you thinking?" Vicky asked back. "That they would change their mind? They are basically right, too. I exceeded my powers."

"Because I asked you to," Jake replied grimly. "I feel damn bad about it. It was my decision to get you out of the hospital and ask for help."

"And it was my decision to help your mother and you," Vicky quietly contradicted so that her mother wouldn't notice.

They were both silent for a moment.

"What are you going to do now? I mean, until the FBI decides what to do with you?" Jake asked.

Vicky shrugged vaguely."The question is whether I want to give the FBI another chance. I'm not so sure about that. And until I make that decision, I'm going to do what's long overdue: vacation."

Later, Catherine went upstairs with Vicky and Jacob. Vicky showed her her parents' crooked house, while Mona put the dishes in the dishwasher downstairs in the kitchen.

"Jacob told me you had problems with the FBI," Catherine said quietly when they arrived in Vicky's room.

"Just the usual," Vicky did with a shrug.

Catherine stayed serious. "Jacob and I were at the FBI today. I made my statement."

When the younger one looked at her questioningly, she continued. "As best I could."

Vicky nodded understandingly.

Catherine continued. "I made it clear that I owe my life to you and your commitment. I hope it helps."

The younger one smiled encouragingly at her. "Don't worry about me. It will go on. Maybe I'll accept Mr. Maxwell's offer. The main thing is that you are well and you can finally live as you like."

Catherine also smiled. "That sounds like pure luxury. To live the way I want to."

"You'll stay below, won't you," Vicky said.

Catherine nodded. "Yes."

Spontaneously Vicky embraced the older one. "I wish you with all my heart that you may finally be happy."

The two women looked at each other consensually. Jacob looked away embarrassed and turned to the door. He pushed his foot against a box standing on the floor. He saw ropes, karabiners, clamps and belts. He bent down curiously and took a closer look in the box, in which he found the stuff for a complete climbing equipment including accessories. When he stood up again, the two women had separated from each other.

"You are climbing?" he asked his partner and pointed to the box full of climbing equipment.

Victoria nodded. "Yes, I used to go to New England with a group every free weekend. But I've also been to the Rocky Mountains."

Jake smiled at her spontaneously, which pulled Vicky off the ground under her feet for a moment. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me at all. You love danger, don't you," he said.

"Climbing on ropes is not dangerous," Vicky contradicted immediately. "If you pay attention and follow the safety rules, it's a good workout and fun to boot. Are you climbing?"

"So far only in caves," Jake replied with an ambiguous smile, knowing that Vicky understood the hint. She finally knew where and how he had grown up.

Meanwhile, Catherine watched the two fascinated by their verbal banter.

"Now that I have to go on vacation, I thought I could go out and try my hand at a mountain," explained Vicky.

Jacob looked down at the box. He smiled strangely, but was silent.

"How long will you be gone?" Catherine asked the younger one.

"Maybe a week," Vicky said without looking at Catherine. Her gaze remained fixed on Jacob. "Would you like to come with me?" she asked him.

He looked at her in surprise and after a short hesitation shook his head. "No, I... I will probably have too much to do."

He left open what that was supposed to be that he had to do. Catherine felt as if he wanted to say yes. They said goodbye to each other.

"Then it's goodbye now," Vicky asked.

Catherine shook her head and looked at her son, who was already standing in the door. "No. I don't think so."

Vicky nodded somehow relieved. Once again the women embraced each other before they separated.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine and Jacob**_

Later, Catherine and Jacob walked silently through the tunnels.

"I want Vicky to come to my welcome party," Catherine suddenly said into the silence.

Jake looked irritated at his mother. "What welcome party?"

"Jamie and Olivia are planning a celebration. They started it when I showed up. They mean so I know I'm welcome down here. The helpers should also be invited."

"Vicky is not a helper," Jacob objected.

Catherine smiled slightly and looked at her son briefly from the side as they continued through the tunnels.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Hanna and Felix**_

"Felix. Felix, wake up." Hanna slightly prodded the boy who was lying bent on the floor and had lost consciousness.

It was pitch dark. The lamp had broken in its fall into the depth. The girl tried to orient herself, but she felt like she was in the gullet of a giant whale. In the darkness she heard loudly the persistent drop of water on the walls. Sometimes the drops fell on her and she shook. At first she had called for help a few times, but then realized that absolutely no one would hear her. They were alone.

Once again she shook Felix. They had gone through a narrow shaft. Felix with the lamp ahead and suddenly he hadn't been there anymore, as if the darkness had swallowed him up. Lost in thought, Hanna had gone a step further and stepped into emptiness. With a scream she had fallen into deep darkness and landed on something soft. Only afterwards did she realize that it was Felix who had cushioned her fall. She listened strained into the darkness. Whether Leo and Lily had already told the adults where they had gone. It was their only hope for help. The others would surely find out at dinner that they were not there and looking for them. They just had to wait long enough. Hanna forbade herself to cry. After all, she was not a cry-baby. Yes, she just had to wait long enough for the adults to come and get them out. She didn't care about the anger that awaited them because they weren't supposed to walk into unknown territory. The main thing was that they would be warm and safe again. Slowly she felt the cold around her.

Something stirred next to her. Shocked, she jerked back and listened. Then she heard a moan. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Felix, do you hear me? It's me, Hanna." She carefully felt for the boy and touched his shoulders.

He moaned again. "It's so black," he stammered quietly. "Why is everything so black?"

"The lamp went out when we fell," Hanna explained.

Felix moaned: "Where are we?"

"I don't know. We have crashed."

"Why..." The boy seemed to have lost his air. He tried to stand up. "Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm here." Hanna touched him with her hand and found his face. "Can you move?"

"I don't know," Felix whispered. "Everything hurts me."

"I don't know how deep we fell," said Hanna. "But the others are certainly already looking for us. They will find us soon." Her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

"They don't even know where we are," Felix replied.

"But Leo and Lily know it and..." Hanna fell silent abruptly. She had heard something. Strained she listened into the darkness.

"What's the matter?" asked the boy.

"Shh. Be quiet," Hanna replied. "I heard footsteps."

After a moment of silence, Felix heard it too.

"Someone is coming," he whispered.

Fearfully the children clung to each other. Their fear was literally palpable. The steps seemed to come closer. Somewhere to their side. Not from above, where they had fallen.

"I am afraid," whispered Hanna in a trembling voice.

Whoever it was had to be very close now. Suddenly the steps fell silent. Silence spread. The children did not even dare to breathe anymore. Then they heard the footsteps again. But this time they moved away from them. They went on and on until nothing more could be heard. Finally Hanna and Felix dared to breathe again. But then the steps sounded high above them. Fearfully they looked up into the darkness.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Catherine, Jacob, Vincent, Luke, Olivia, Kannon, Mouse, Jamie, further tunnel inhabitants**_

At first Catherine and Jacob were surprised that nobody met them in the tunnels. They had already gone far into the inner area when they came across a group of people travelling with lamps.

"What's going on" asked Jake, who immediately felt something was wrong.

"We are looking for some missing children," replied Luke, the son of Olivia and Kannon.

"Oh my God," whispered Catherine concerned.

"We're on our way back from the section we searched to meet with the other troops in Father's old chamber," Luke continued.

"Then let's go quickly," Jacob asked the group.

Together they hurried to father's old chamber, where many of the tunnel inhabitants had gathered. The other groups had already returned without success.

"Catherine," Vincent exclaimed, relieved when he saw her and his son arrive together with the last group.

Catherine went to him and hugged him briefly. "We've already heard that children are missing."

"Leo, Lily, Hanna and Felix, to be exact," reported Olivia, who greeted Catherine as well as Jacob.

"Don't the other kids know where the four of them went?" Jacob asked.

"We already asked them," Olivia replied. "They are as afraid for them as all of us are."

Vincent shook his head as if he couldn't believe it. At the same time, he held Catherine's hand, happy not to be alone at this moment. "Yesterday most of them were still at my bedside and wanted to hear the old stories from the past. And now this."

Catherine frowned. She too could remember the scene when the children came to Vincent's chamber. She had withdrawn at that time and left him alone with the children.

"What kind of stories did you tell them?" she asked.

His face brightened. "From us. I told them stories about us. How we got to know each other. Also from other events here in the tunnels when Father and I were spilled in the maze and you helped us.

"The maze," Catherine whispered following an inspiration. "Maybe they are there."

"The entrances to the maze have been bricked up for a long time," Mouse said confidently from the background. "I helped with that back then."

"But only the entrances bordering the inhabited area," Jacob contradicted. "You can walk around it from the outside through old tunnels and from the other side..." He fell silent abruptly because he looked into the questioning faces of the people around him and especially of his father.

"How do you know?" Mouse asked promptly.

"A lot of people should know that. That used to be a test of courage for us children. Everyone knew the story of the maze, and some only dared to go as far as the walls," Jacob explained. "The brave ones went on to the other side. There are still open entrances. Daniel and I went inside for a short time, but you have to be hellishly careful not to fall into the depths. Sometimes it goes quite deep down there." Jake looked into the reproachful faces of the other inhabitants and his parents. For a moment he felt like fourteen again when he said: "Sorry, Pa."

"Do you really think they went that far?" Alexander asked.

"They wanted to go to the maze," the voice of a child suddenly sounded from the stairs.

All heads turned in the direction of the girl with the long brown hair.

"Clara, what do you know about it?" Olivia asked sternly.

The girl's face turned red when she felt all the attention was on her.

"Come on, say what you know", Ben said, standing next to her and bumping her with his elbow.

She hesitated anxiously for a moment.

"Clara." Olivia's voice became threatening.

"You're scaring her," Jamie objected.

"They had been standing together the whole time yesterday," Clara told now. "Felix said he would climb into the maze. Leo told him that everything was bricked up, but he knew the way and wanted to lead the others."

"Why didn't you tell us that right away? Damn it", Kannon cursed loudly.

Clara retreated anxiously as she felt the reproachful looks of the adults on her.

Only Catherine smiled encouragingly at her, "It's good that you've told us now."

Shyly the little one nodded to her as an answer.

"So let's go," Mouse said in the meantime. "Let's go to the maze. Who's coming with us?"

Kannon and Luke were immediately ready, including Alexander in case anyone was injured.

"I'll accompany you," Jacob said spontaneously, because he felt his father's restlessness. "I know the way around if they took it." He nodded to Vincent and Catherine. "Don't worry. I know my way around."

Provided with lamps the troop left the chamber together.

Vincent frowned after his son. "I guess I shouldn't ask why he knows the place so well."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Catherine had to smile. "Probably because he has the same thirst for research as his father," she said to him easily.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Felix, Hanna, Leo**_

"Who is there?" Felix shouted brave into the darkness and more courageously than he actually felt.

"Hanna? Felix? Are you there?" asked a voice back.

"Leo, you scared us to death," Hanna shouted with a voice trembling with relief.

"Don't go further," Felix shouted as a warning. "Here it goes steeply down. We crashed."

"What about your lamp" asked Hanna.

"She went out," Leo replied. "I just went on in the dark and groped my way along the wall. Lily sits a little further back on the floor and howls."

"But you almost passed us," Hanna disagreed. "Down here. Very close by and you didn't say a word."

"I didn't go down anywhere," contradicted Leo. "I just walked along the wall."

"But... someone was there," stammered Hanna.

"Who?" Leo asked.

At that moment a wind howled through the tunnels and whirled the dust on the floor. The children ducked together. As the wind subsided, they heard footsteps again.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Lily, Leo, Hanna, Felix, Jacob, Mouse, Alexander, Kannon, Luke**_

Lily huddled close to the wall when the troop found her. When Alexander bent down to her and gently touched her to see if she was hurt, she screamed in panic. She tried to thrash about frantically, but finally the doctor managed to calm her down with quiet words.

"They left me alone," the girl sobbed. "Leo too." Her face was smeared with dirt from the cave wall.

"You stay with her," Jacob said. "We're going a little further."

"Hello," Mouse shouted loudly and shone the lamp further into the tunnel. "Hanna, Leo, Felix. Are you there?"

The men walked on together.

"Here", a soft voice suddenly sounded. "We are here."

"That's Leo," Luke said.

Behind the next bend they found him close to the edge of an abyss that went down several meters.

"They're down there," Leo said, pointing his finger down the abyss.

That was the moment when the men feared the worst. Luke carefully kneeled at the edge of the abyss and shone down. Hanna blinked confused into the sudden, bright light.

"We are down here," she said in a thin voice. "Felix is hurt. He can't move properly."

"Get Alexander," Jacob said to Luke, who hurried immediately and brought Alexander here with Lily.

"Do we have a rope with us?" Jacob asked.

The others shook their heads.

"In my chamber," Mouse said. "I can get it."

"A rope is no use if the boy has serious injuries," Alexander said for sure. "In the worst case, we'll only cause him more injuries."

"How do you suggest we get the boy down there away?" Jacob asked.

"We need strong belts, ropes and hooks to pull them up safely," Luke said. "The wall down seems to be pretty slippery from the water."

"But where from..." started Mouse, but Jacob hit him briefly on the shoulder.

"I have to go up quickly. I know who can help us." So he hastily disappeared into the darkness.

_**New York; house of Mona and Victoria Thompson; Jake (Jacob), Vicky (Victoria), Mona Thompson **_

At first, it rang wildly. Then a heavy knock followed at the door. Vicky quickly threw something on herself and hoped to be faster than her mother. But by the time she reached the ground floor, Mona was already opening the front door.

"Is Vicky there?" she heard Jake ask breathlessly.

"Yes, of course, but..." started Mona, but Vicky was already standing next to her.

"Jake? Did anything happen?" The question was obvious because it was already late in the evening.

Jake seemed rushed, as if he had run. "I need your equipment," he replied.

"For what? asked Vicky.

"Why don't you come in first," Mona threw in.

Jacob gave Vicky a serious look and glanced sideways at Vicky's mother. Victoria understood immediately.

"Mom, you can lie down again," she said to her mother calmly.

She gave her daughter a partly amused, partly curious look. "I understand," she just said and went to the stairs, not without stroking Vicky's arm briefly.

When the two heard Mona climb up the stairs, Jacob reported quickly. "Some children crashed in the maze. A boy is injured. You have stable belts with your climbing gear."

"Yes, of course," Vicky replied. "But..."

"Can you lend it to me? Then we can get the boy up safely."

Vicky grasped the urgency immediately, even though she didn't know what the maze was. "I'm just getting dressed and I'm coming with you," she said.

Jake wanted to argue that it wasn't necessary, but by then she was gone. Barely five minutes later she came back fully dressed with all her equipment. She had briefly informed her mother that she had to leave again. She pressed the box of equipment into Jake's arms and closed the front door behind her.

"Then let's go," she said.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Jake (Jacob), Vicky (Victoria), Mouse, Alexander, Catherine, Vincent, other tunnel inhabitants**_

Jacob did not stop to go to his parents in the inhabited area to inform them. He was very familiar with the underground tunnel system. Better than his father suspected. They took an entrance that lay in a house of a helper. Jake had taken a flashlight from his car and put it in Vicky's hand. Then they went deeper and deeper through dark and desolate shafts. Vicky was glad to have put on a jacket.

"Hopefully you know where we are," she said half jokingly and half seriously.

"Yes, don't worry," Jake replied. "We're in the outer areas."

Vicky lit the way with the flashlight while Jake carried the box. Everything around her seemed cold and inhospitable, not like the other chambers and corridors where people lived.

It seemed as if Jacob had guessed her thoughts. "These ways are usually only accesses up to our helpers or into the world above. Most are not illuminated. We guard only the inhabited part of the tunnels so that no stranger enters. We only take this way now because it is faster to get to the maze."

Vicky noticed he was speaking in the we-form. He still saw himself as part of the community in the tunnels. Maybe he wasn't aware of that at all.

"What is the maze?" she asked curiously.

"An area of corridors and chambers that has been slowly hollowed out and eaten away by water for decades. My father was spilled there more than thirty years ago and my mother helped to free him," Jake told willingly and was glad that he knew something about his parents from that time.

"So there's water there," Vicky asked.

"No river, but it drips from all sides when you're inside. Because it has always been fragile and in danger of collapsing, it was bricked up after this thing," Jake continued.

"But you were in anyway," said the woman next to him, amused.

"They only bricked up the entrances to the inhabited part and as a child I was very adventurous," Jake admitted.

Vicky could imagine that. After that they didn't talk to each other anymore. Vicky trusted him and followed her partner through the darkness. As she became more and more aware of the drop of water, she knew it couldn't be far. Mouse and Kannon awaited her.

"Luke went back with Lily and Leo," Mouse informed her.

Jacob nodded and pointed into the depths, where Hanna and Felix were holding out and trembling with cold. Victoria grasped the situation immediately.

"How bad is the boy hurt?" she asked.

"Probably broken bones on one leg and one arm," replied Alexander, who had spoken to Felix in the meantime and estimated the severity of his injuries through questions and Felix's answers.

"I have several belts with me," Vicky said to Jake and the others. "Best of all, I'll go down the rope with the equipment and put the appropriate ones on the kids. Then you can pull them up."

Jake shook his head. "That's too dangerous. The walls are slippery. You don't have a safe grip."

"Who has the climbing experience here?" she contradicted.

"But only on rough rock faces and in daylight," Jacob objected. "Come on, give me the equipment," he said energetically. "I know my way around the caves here. You safe me from above."

They fought an inner battle with their eyes.

Then Vicky nodded. "All right, then."

Skillfully Jake put on the belts. Vicky put the rope around her hips to let him down this way.

"You're not secured by additional hooks and karabiners, as is usually the case with climbing. So make sure you don't slip."

"Well, then you'll have to hold me tight," Jake joked to her.

He didn't wait for her reaction anymore and started to rappel down. The rescue of the two children below the tunnel required their full attention in the following minutes. With their combined efforts, they managed to get the children up safely. After Alexander had briefly examined the boy, he gave the all-clear. Felix had probably only sprained his wrist and foot and certainly had lots of bruises. Hanna had apparently escaped with the horror. Lastly, Jacob skillfully climbed up the cave wall, secured only by the rope Vicky was holding. When he reached the top, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Together they made their way back.

In the big chamber they were received expectantly and joyfully. Alexander took care of Felix's injuries. Hanna told excitedly of a ghost whose steps they had heard in the maze, but nobody believed her and Felix. The tension of all was released in a general relief. Only Vicky suddenly felt lost and isolated in the midst of the familiar atmosphere of the tunnel residents. She stood on the edge and seemed thoughtful. These people formed a family. They were Jake's family. She reached for the box with her equipment. At least she had been able to help these people, she thought.

"You want to go," she was suddenly approached from the side. Catherine lightly touched her arm and smiled at her.

"Mom will be worried if I stay away all night," Vicky said.

Catherine nodded understandingly.

"Luke can lead you up," said Vincent, who had joined.

Gratefully Vicky nodded. "That would be nice." She briefly looked over to Jake, who was in a conversation with one of the tunnel dwellers.

"I wanted to ask you something," Catherine began. "There will be a welcome party for me here. It would be nice if you could come."

"Welcome party?" Vicky looked confused at the woman next to her.

"Of course only when you have time and want to come," said Catherine, who felt the FBI agent's hesitation.

"It would be a great honor if you could be there," Vincent said.

Jake must have got the old-fashioned habits and expressions from his father, Vicky thought involuntarily. Once again she looked around the room with the rock walls and the strangely dressed people.

Then she smiled at them. "Yes, I'd love to come."

Catherine smiled at her with relief. "Good. We'll send you a message." The two women hugged each other again. "And many thanks for everything."

_**New York; house of Mona Thompson, the tunnels; Jacob (Jake) and Victoria (Vicky)**_

Jacob left his car by the side of the road. He got out and walked lightly up the few steps to the front door. He looked forward to the evening ahead. The tunnel dwellers had decorated the large hall, and many helpers had promised to come. It was almost the same as at Winterfest. Jake had partly helped with the preparations as far as his work gave him time. Because the FBI was still busy clearing up the background to the FBI traitors who had joined forces with organized crime. At least it had helped his career enormously. His determined action to protect his mother had been widely praised. His position at the FBI was now safer than ever. This not only benefited him. He was eager to bring the good news to Vicky. And secretly, without wanting to admit it to himself, he looked forward to working closely with her in the future as well. They hadn't seen each other the last few weeks. On the one hand Vicky had gone away for a few days, on the other hand Jake was often in Washington to help with the processing of the cases.

Jake took another deep breath before he knocked loud at the door. Vicky knew he was coming. He had sent her a message that he would pick her up today. When the door opened from the inside, he looked into his partner's eyes. He had wanted to greet her with one of his loose sayings, but his head seemed empty all of a sudden. Before him stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman in a dark blue dress. She wore earrings and had put her hair up to an elegant knot. Jake was about to open his mouth and ask where Victoria was when the realization finally reached his mind.

"Vicky" he asked, completely confused and enraptured.

She smiled shyly at him. "I'm almost ready. I'll just get my jacket." So she hurried back inside the house.

Jake didn't dare move from the spot. He felt trapped in a strange dream. When his partner came back and closed the door behind her, he still felt like a sleepwalker. Was this elegant woman next to him really his FBI partner, who didn't shy away from courageously standing in the way of her opponents.

"You don't say anything," she said lightly to him.

He had to clear his throat before he could make a sound. "Excuse me, please. You... you look great."

She blushed. His compliment made her embarrassed. "Thank you," she mumbled quietly and got into the car on the passenger side.

Jake sat down on the driver's side and started the car.

"Where are we going?" Vicky asked and when she realized her question sounded misleading, she added, "I mean which entrance to the tunnels we are taking?"

Jake smiled. For Vicky it was all very unusual. "I'm going to Mom's apartment where I currently live when I'm in New York."

"Oh," Vicky replied.

"We take the entrance in the basement," Jake continued.

"I have the feeling that all of New York is riddled with tunnels and entrances like a Swiss cheese," Vicky jokingly remarked.

"It's not that bad," Jake said and looked at her briefly. He swallowed. She looked different than usual. Not the inconspicuous FBI agent in trousers and blazer. She just looked... hot. Then he suddenly remembered what he had wanted to tell her so badly.

"By the way, I have good news for you," he started. "You can resume your work at the FBI next week. The accusations against you were dropped."

Instead of the expected relief of his partner, only a silence followed his announcement. Nervously, Jake looked over at her. Vicky looked silently out of the side window.

"Do you understand me?" Jake asked. "You're back in the game."

She gave him a brief sideways glance and smiled briefly. "I suppose I owe that to your influence."

"I have only stressed several times how outstanding your commitment was in liberating my mother and that I could not have done it without your help." Jake rewound it like a tape.

"Maybe that's a little exaggerated," Vicky said mockingly.

They drove into the underground car park of the apartment house where Catherine's apartment was. Now she didn't need it anymore, Vicky thought to herself. Catherine would live down in the tunnels with Vincent, whom she loved. And Jacob would occasionally use the apartment if he were in New York. But most of the time he would certainly be in Washington or somewhere else on the road for the FBI. So would she herself when she returned to the FBI and resumed her duties.

Silently they took the entrance to the tunnels through the basement shaft below the house. Meanwhile, Vicky didn't feel strange walking through the tunnels anymore. Jake had a flashlight with him, and soon they came into the areas lit by candlelight.

"Do a lot of people come?" she asked Jake.

"Oh yes," he replied, "many have agreed to come. But I have to warn you. It will be a very different kind of party than you normally know. It's almost a kind of Winterfest."

"Winterfest" she asked curiously.

"Yes, we celebrate it in winter," Jake explained, unaware of how enthusiastic his voice sounded. "It's something special for us because we celebrate it with all the helpers from above to thank them because without their help the world down here would be very dark."

Involuntarily Victoria had to smile at this description. Together they went on through the tunnels.

_**New York; in the tunnels, the great hall; Catherine, Vincent, Jake (Jacob), Vicky (Victoria), tunnel inhabitants and helpers**_

The great hall was festively decorated. All tunnel inhabitants had helped with the preparations. Catherine had observed all this ambiguously. She didn't want so much attention, it was somehow unpleasant for her, even if everyone helped enthusiastically. Vincent, who was still walking on crutches, tried to calm her down.

"You can't stop them," he said. "Everyone is happy that you are here."

"I'm happy to be here, too," she replied, "but this fest seems to degenerate from a small celebration, which it was supposed to be at first, to a pompous fest."

"You're exaggerating," said Jamie, who passed them both with a garland of boxwood. In the end everything was done.

To the delight of all, Geoffrey had recovered from his serious injury and had been released from hospital. On the day of the Fest, the hall was spruced up as it was otherwise only for the annual Winterfest. Many helpers came, guided by some guards through the tunnels. But Catherine didn't know many more. Nevertheless, together with Vincent, she greeted everyone who arrived. All the more she was happy when Laura suddenly stood opposite her. The deaf-mute girl of former times had become a mature woman, who now herself also had adult children. Those present were festively dressed. Catherine wore a silver-grey dress with long sleeves. Vincent looked like an old nobleman in his frilly shirt and waistcoat. Their son Jacob was one of the last to come along with Victoria. Together the troop went down the windy stairs to the big hall. This time Vincent, who was still very restricted by his leg, did not open the wide, two-winged door alone. He was supported by Jacob. Then they lit the candles in the big hall. Ralph, the cook, had set the table festively so that there was enough for everyone. The children sang, and some took out their instruments and played music, while the inhabitants and helpers exchanged news.

Catherine felt like she was back in time when she had celebrated her first and only Winterfest down here. That was so long ago.

"You're so quiet," Vincent mumbled quietly next to her.

A faint smile flew over her face. "It's the memories of that time," she replied quietly. "There are so many who are no longer there."

Vincent took her hand. "But they are. Father and all the others who have gone. Deep inside me I feel that they are with us now in this moment."

She smiled at him. "Maybe you are right."

Hand in hand they strolled from group to group, watching the children make music and talking to many friends. They laughed a lot and told stories about times Catherine had not been able to experience. She eagerly absorbed these stories because she felt that she was becoming more and more a part of the community. She now belonged here. That was irrefutably clear to her. From time to time she looked curiously over to her son, who together with Vicky was engaged in a conversation with Luke and Daniel. She frowned briefly. She had to talk to him in private again. Interested, she noticed how close Jacob and Vicky stood together, and hope sprouted in her. She had watched her son show Vicky around and introduce all evening. He had strolled through the hall with her and had explained this and that to her. A broad smile covered Catherine's face, and Vincent, who had watched her unnoticed, seemed as if the sun would rise and shine only for him. Here stood the woman he loved all his life beside him, and happiness shone out of her eyes. He pressed her hand briefly and she looked up at him. She looked over to her son once more and Vincent followed her gaze. Then she turned to Vincent again with a smile on her face. And at that moment in the big hall, surrounded by all her friends, Catherine spontaneously stood on her toes and kissed Vincent intimately on the mouth so that everyone could see it. Some in her immediate vicinity paused in amazement at this unusual tender gesture between this extraordinary couple. Vicky and Jake had also seen it. While Jake was astounded at first and then delighted that his parents showed their love so openly for each other, Vicky felt that it was pulling the floor under her feet. The deep kiss between the strange looking man and this brave woman touched something deep inside her.

"Come", Jake said to her. "I want to show you something else."

He pulled her out of the big hall with him. He led her to the waterfall and the garden, he showed her chambers and corridors and a cave full of crystals. He showed Victoria the world in which he had grown up. After everything she had done, she deserved honesty, and Jacob knew, the secret well kept with her. Strange, he thought, it was the first time he knew a woman of his age whom he trusted unconditionally.

"How far down does it go?" Vicky asked as they stood together on the suspension bridge, where the voices and sounds of the world echoed like ghostly above.

"Nobody knows how deep it really goes down here in the earth," Jake replied, "I can only tell you that for several days you can go steadily downhill without coming to an end. It just gets warmer and hotter all the time, the further it goes".

"You've already done that, haven't you," Vicky said.

Jake smiled slightly. "I said I was very adventurous before."

"Did your father know about it?" she asked.

"Not about everything. But you'll be surprised, we did many tours together."

They went on.

"Don't you miss all that when you're up in the world for the FBI?" the young woman continued.

Jake didn't answer immediately. "The world above has its own charms, and I can live a normal life."

"Is that why you went above and trained as an FBI agent?"

"Come, I want to show you something else," Jake distracted from Vicky's question.

There were things he didn't want to talk about or even think about that evening. Finally they came to Father's old chamber with all the old books. Fascinated, Vicky went through the series of classics. Shakespeare, Lord Byron, Tennyson, but also Oscar Wilde and Robert Frost. Next to them were scientific papers and textbooks.

"Did you read them all?" Vicky asked with a smile.

"I had to read many," Jake replied with a painfully distorted face.

Vicky laughed quietly. She took one of the books off the shelf and read aloud:

"For stony limits cannot hold love out,

and what love can do, that dares love attempt." ******

Embarrassed she slammed the book.

"You read very well," Jake said quietly. "Did you read the classics at school before?

"Of course," Vicky replied. "My mother was a teacher. I couldn't get around it."

They went back to the big hall.

Later in the evening, the time came to say goodbye. There were many hugs and good wishes. Little by little the helpers were led upwards. Jake and Vicky stayed almost to the end. Jacob wanted to bring his partner home safely in any case.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Catherine asked her son and gently touched his arm.

"Of course," he said and waited, but his mother pulled him away from the remaining tunnel dwellers.

Only when they stood in the half-shade away in the big hall did Catherine get to the point. "You should talk to your father."

At first he didn't react, although he instinctively guessed what she was alluding to.

"About you", Catherine now became clear. "About your change."

His face closed immediately. "Mom, we've already cleared that up."

"You're asking me to lie to your father, and I can't." Catherine seemed determined.

Jake was torn between anger and helplessness. "You promised."

"I thought it best to let it rest for now," Catherine said.

"Besides, you're not lying to Pa. You just don't have to tell him." Jake visibly squirmed.

"Silence is like a lie," said Catherine.

"That's what you did during all the years you disappeared." Jake immediately regretted his harsh words. His mother bit her lips. He had hurt her. "Mom, I'm sorry."

A shadow flew over her face. "It's all right," she said quietly and turned away from him.

"Please." He held her tight. "Please don't be angry. I'm sorry, but I just can't."

She stroked his cheek briefly. "It's all right. It's all right."

"And you won't tell him?" He looked at her pleadingly.

She just shook her head slightly and pressed his hand.

As he parted, Jacob hugged his mother tightly and still felt regret for his harsh words and for what he asked of her. Catherine, too, felt regret because she knew that secrets could weigh heavier than the rock on which Manhattan stood. And every secret came to light one day.

They didn't realize Vincent felt the tension between mother and son. He felt that both were hiding something from him, but he had time.

_**New York; in Jake's car in front of Vicky's apartment; Jake (Jacob) and Vicky (Victoria)**_

"Thanks for driving me home." Vicky felt awkward.

She was sitting next to Jake in the car that he had stopped in front of her mother's house.

"That's self-evident," he said and didn't seem to know himself what to say.

"I could have taken a taxi from the apartment, too," Vicky objected.

"Nonsense," Jake replied, "I'll make sure you get home safely, of course."

"Like a real knight," she said with a smile. "It was nevertheless a very nice evening. Interesting and very beautiful."

"Now you know how I grew up," Jacob said. "You're the only one from the FBI who knows that."

She touched his arm lightly. "Nobody will find out anything from me. I promise you that. This world of the tunnels and people is special."

Jake smiled. "Yes, isn't it."

"It was wonderful to see your parents so happy," Vicky continued. "They really love each other, don't they?"

Jake looked through the windshield of the car into the darkness. "Yes, they love each other."

Vicky turned away from him and was about to open the passenger door when Jacob's voice held her back. "Then I'll see you at the FBI next week."

She looked at him and took a deep breath. "No."

She watched, how his expression changed in surprise and then reflected total confusion. "What? But... I told you that you..."

"Jake," she intervened. "I'm not going back to the FBI."

For an endless moment, silence spread between them.

"But why?" Jake asked stunned. "I worked hard for you to come back."

"I know," Vicky replied quietly. "Jake, I'm going to stay in New York. My mother is no longer the youngest and will be happy when she is no longer alone. I will accept Joe Maxwell's offer and work in the new Special Force."

Jake shook his head as if he couldn't believe it. "I don't understand. You know how hard FBI training is. Do you really want to throw it away now? I even arranged for us to work together as a team in the future. You and me."

Vicky closed her eyes for a second. Then she looked at him again. "And I can't understand why you really want to go to Washington."

When Jake looked at her without understanding, she continued. "Your mother, believed dead, is back after many years, and you have nothing better to do than being everywhere, just not near her. You know, one thing has become clear to me tonight. Nothing is as important as the people we love and who love us. The family we have is worth more than career or ambition. And that's why I'm going to stay in New York. My mom will be happy, and here I am at home."

Silence spread between them. Vicky didn't know if she had gone too far. Jake looked silently out of the windshield. He couldn't tell Vicky what was really bothering him. The fear of his father's inheritance inside him. The fear of losing control the closer he was to his father. It was true. He ran away. From the truth and from the guilty conscience, because his mother knew about his secret. And he ran away from love and closeness, because he thought he did not deserve it.

"I'm sorry", Vicky mumbled quietly and opened the passenger door.

"Me too," Jake replied and looked at her regretfully.

She only hesitated for a moment, then bent over again briefly and kissed him quickly on the cheek. Before Jake could react, she had got out of the car and hurried up the stairs to the front door.

When Jake finally got out and tried to stop her, she had already disappeared into the house. For a long time he looked at the closed door before he sat back in the car and drove away.

_**New York; in the tunnels; Vincent and Catherine**_

After the last helpers had said goodbye and been taken above, the inhabitants had tidied up and locked the big hall.

In the tunnels peace returned. Even the knocking on the pipes had stopped. The inhabitants had gone to sleep. Only the guards were at their posts to protect the world from outside dangers. Therefore some candles were lit in the corridors.

Vincent and Catherine did not go back to their chamber yet. Both felt the same restlessness without having to talk about it. Vincent used to walk up to the park in those nightly hours or wander through the dark streets of the city. Now he led Catherine down to the waterfall and on to the underground garden. With one hand he leaned on a stick to relieve his leg. With the other hand he held Catherines hand tightly. Hand in hand they went without a word.

Vincent wanted to know what secret she was hiding from him. A secret she obviously shared with their son. It hurt Vincent that there seemed to be something between the two that kept him out. What could be so serious that they wanted to protect him from it? For there was no other reason he could explain for their strange behavior.

"It really was a very nice evening," Catherine spoke into the silence.

Vincent nodded. "Yes, it was."

"Despite all the reservations I had, I am grateful that Jamie and Olivia have given me the opportunity to feel part of the community through this fest." Catherine smiled at these words.

Vincent looked at her tenderly. "You have always belonged to us. In my heart you have always been a part of this world".

"Somehow I am and somehow I'm not," Catherine said quietly.

They sat down on a bench and listened for a while to the water flowing through the beds in the garden.

"Catherine," Vincent began abruptly, "I was watching you earlier with Jacob. I..." He broke off.

Catherine looked silently into the garden. Here she sat at the end of all her dreams, which she had believed to be lost forever. But instead of the happiness she was supposed to feel, she felt a new kind of fear. Not from any evil people who persecuted her, but from all the secrets she carried within her, unable to let them go and share with the man she loved.

Tenderly Vincent stroked her hand. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. For a moment I only had the feeling that you were arguing, but afterwards it seemed to be good again. I just wish you wouldn't keep me out. You know, I thought we could really be a family now. That was always my dream."

Vincent himself knew that he was nervously and fearfully just talking to himself hoping to reach her somehow through it.

"Vincent." Lovingly, Catherine looked at him. "Believe me, it's not you. Maybe I just had to live too long with the shadows hovering above me. Alone and without being able to talk to anyone about it". Now she grabbed both his hands. "There are things I cannot tell you. Not yet, but..."

Vincent gently put his finger on her lips. "You didn't have to talk any further. We have time. The rest of our lives and beyond."

That was true. He had time. He could wait. Now that Catherine was with him forever, he could wait until their bond was so strong again that nothing stood in between. He hoped so.

Catherine smiled gratefully and put her forehead to his. "I love you," she whispered quietly.

"And I love you," whispered Vincent. "Everything else doesn't matter."

She nodded imperceptibly. For a while they remained tightly entwined.

"Come, let's go to bed," Vincent asked quietly.

Catherine wiped a few tears out of her eyes. Then she stood up and pulled him up by his hand. "Yes, let's go together."

They left the garden. Vincent turned off the lights of the lamps. And with the darkness they left the past and the unsaid behind for a new and never-before-seen future.

***** _Edgar Allan Poe  
(* 19.01.1809, † 07.10.1849),_ _ .de/edgar-allan-poe-dream/_

****** Shakespeare, Romeo und Julia, nofear/shakespeare/romeojuliet/page_82/

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